


Some Assembly Required

by VoicesOffCamera



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Avengers Family, Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Foster Care, Gen, Hurt Clint Barton, Kid Bruce Banner, Kid Clint Barton, Kid Steve Rogers, Kid Thor (Marvel), Kid Tony Stark, Mental Health Issues, Parent Phil Coulson, Past Child Abuse, Protective Steve Rogers, Teen Angst, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22981222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoicesOffCamera/pseuds/VoicesOffCamera
Summary: Phil Coulson has been fostering kids for ten years now, taking in only the difficult cases that CPS struggled to place. At this point, he figured he had seen it all. But when Clint Barton joins the house already occupied by Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor Ordinson and Bruce Banner, Phil is reminded that this path he had chosen was never meant to be an easy one.
Comments: 87
Kudos: 491





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Here we go! It's been a while since I've posted any novel length stories, I've been struggling a bit with some mental health issues for about the past year. I've been working on this story on an off for a while now and I've got the first five chapters done, I'm hoping to keep up my current momentum by finally starting to post a story for the first time in a long time. Soooo... hope you guys enjoy!

**Chapter One**

“Alright, what’s this about?” 

Maria Hill regarded him wearily before turning her gaze back to the window she had been looking through.

“Meet Clint Barton,” she said simply with a nod at the window.

Phil Coulson turned his attention to the one-way window that looked into the interrogation cell. A boy sat at the right side of a metal table, a standard prison jumpsuit hanging off his thin frame, his hands cuffed and resting lightly on the table in front of him. Phil’s gaze lingered for a long moment on the kid’s bruised and battered knuckles before shifting and taking in the black eye and split lip. The kid was sitting stiffly and stared blankly straight ahead at the blank wall at the left of the interrogation cell. It was a bit unnerving to see such a small boy so still. 

“What is he, ten?” Phil asked skeptically. 

“Just turned thirteen,” Maria said calmly. 

“Wow,” Phil said, arching his eyebrows in honest surprise. “Small for his age.” There was a heavy pause before he turned back to Maria. “Well, it’s swell to meet him. So, you want to tell me why it was so important for me to rush over here so early? I don’t have to tell you that traffic was a bitch.” 

“He’s in juvie on three counts of assault on police officers and one count of trespassing,” Maria reported clinically. “His sentence hearing keeps getting pushed back so he’s been here for over a week now. They are in the process of removing him from gen pop and transferring him to isolation because he keeps getting into fights and has sent eight boys – all sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds – to the infirmary so far.”

Phil arched an eyebrow… vaguely impressed despite the circumstances. “Well, he seems fun. I’m still not sure what it is you want from me.”

Maria finally turned to look at him, fixing him with that look that always made him feel like he was a teenager again and about to get scolded by the principal. 

“His hearing is currently set for next week,” she told him briskly. “But not only does he have a history of violence before this but he’s also had a history of running away from Child Protective Services. In fact, after several failed attempts, he finally disappeared from a group home in Iowa four years ago and hadn’t been seen since until now. The system isn’t exactly jumping at the opportunity to place a flight risk like that. And, as you well know, without somewhere to put this kid a judge is likely to give him a maximum sentence for assaulting those cops just to keep him off the streets.”

Phil sighed. He was afraid that was what she was looking for. 

“Maria, I’m full up, you _know_ that,” he said tiredly. “I’d like to help but I just can’t take in any more kids right now, especially one that’s so prone to violence. I’ve just recently got Bruce to stop breaking things when he gets worked up.”

“This kid needs a break,” she pressed. She held out a thick file that had been tucked under her arm. “Just look at his file. Parents died when he was six and when CPS took him in there was already evidence of abuse. He and his brother were bounced around to four different homes in three years – at least one of which was put under investigation for suspected child abuse and endangerment when the kids were relocated – before disappearing and assumedly living on the streets for the past four years.” She gave him a grim smile. “This case is right in your wheelhouse, Phil.”

Phil sighed heavily as he took the file from her but didn’t open it. It wasn’t the first heartbreaking case he had heard. Nor would it be the last. 

“Where’s his brother now?” he asked. 

Maria shook her head. “No idea. He disappeared at the same time Clint did and hasn’t been heard from since. He would have aged out of the system by now anyway so he’s not really our concern at the moment.”

“How did his parents die?”

“Car accident,” Maria informed him. “His father was driving and veered off the road without any obvious provocation, wrapping the car around a tree. Both Harold Barton and his wife were pronounced dead on the scene. Autopsy revealed that Harold was heavily intoxicated at the time of the crash. This was at ten in the morning on a Tuesday, by the way. Really tells you what kind of guy he was.” She paused. “Also, both Clint and his brother were in the car at the time of the crash. When paramedics arrived on the scene, both parents were already deceased, and his brother was unconscious. Clint was the only one left conscious, despite broken ribs, a collapsed lung, and a heavily bleeding head wound.”

Phil sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“You know I’d like to help,” he repeated reluctantly. “But I literally have nowhere to put this kid right now. I physically cannot fit another bed into either of the boys’ rooms.” 

“This kid isn’t going to get off without some kind of sentence,” Maria said rationally. “I talked to his public defender, he believes that if I can line up a home for the kid before the hearing then he can get the judge to be lenient and give him sixty to ninety days since this is his first official offense. You’ve been saying for years now how you’ve wanted to fix up that attic of yours. That would be plenty of time to do that… might even be a good project to get the boys involved with this summer.” She shot him a knowing look along with a small smirk. 

Phil snorted a laugh. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.” His eyes wandered back to the boy who sat in the interrogation room. He hadn’t moved, not one fidget, since Phil had gotten there. “What’s he got to say about all this? Any kind of explanation on why he keeps getting into fights? Or how he disappeared in Iowa and ended up here in New York?”

“He’s… not saying anything,” Maria said carefully. 

Phil turned back to her, suddenly suspicious. Something suddenly seemed off about her tone. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… he’s not saying anything. At all. As far as we know, he hasn’t spoken one word since he was arrested over a week ago. The only reason they were able to identify him was because his prints were in the system from a minor trespassing incident when he ran away from one of the group homes in Iowa when he was eight.”

Phil blinked in surprise. “Well… that’s a new one,” he admitted.

Maria nodded. “It’s a pretty strong indicator of trauma. Maybe even post-traumatic stress disorder.”

Phil frowned. Yes, he had heard many terrible stories about kids in his time as a foster parent. But even he had to admit that it was pretty gut wrenching to think that this kid had been through something so terrible that he refused to speak. 

Phil busied himself with flipping open the file. Maria had already given him all the pertinent information, but he still wanted to see for himself. There were pictures of a six-year-old Clint Barton, his eyes downcast and strangely blank, a thick bandage wound around his head, bruises on his chest and healed scars on his back. There were accounts from a child psychologist of trying to engage with Clint and how concerning it was that he spoke so quietly and wouldn’t make eye contact. There were records of getting in fights with other boys in the group homes and multiple instances of him running away – sometimes with his brother and other times on his own. 

But what haunted Phil the most was a photo that was taken just after Clint was removed from his third group home. He was eight years old, sporting a black eye and a cast covering his right arm from his wrist almost up to his shoulder. According to the notes, his arm was broken in three places due to “suspicious circumstances,” and then the home he was living in was immediately put under investigation for child abuse. It was the look on the kid’s face in that photo that really got to Phil though. He had never seen such anger radiating off someone who was so small. It was a sharp contrast to that first photo only two years before. 

Phil sighed heavily as he snapped the file shut and handed it back to Maria. 

“Keep me updated with when his sentencing hearing will take place,” he said flatly as he turned to leave. 

“Where are you going?” Maria called after him. 

Phil paused at the door and glanced back at her with a faint smile. “Going to start prepping the boys for manual labor. That attic project isn’t going to be easy.”

* * *

Once upon a time, Phil Coulson had lived a quiet life. He owned a three-bedroom brownstone on the outskirts of New York City, just a short subway ride from Columbia University, where he was the youngest tenured history professor. He was early to campus every single morning and was always working late into the night. He was never one to turn down covering classes for colleagues or even adding extra classes to his own already crammed schedule. After all, it wasn’t like there was anything but an empty house waiting for him when he left campus. 

Of all things, it was an ad on the subway that originally put the idea into his head. The ad read that the state of New York was in desperate need of foster families to take in kids who had nowhere to go. Phil barely registered the ad the first few days after it was posted, but as the weeks went on he found himself looking at that particular ad more and more. 

Initially, when the thought had first crossed his mind, he had immediately scoffed at it. What did he know about raising kids? But, even months later when the ad was finally covered up by an obnoxious ad for Axe body spray, the idea sat and festered in his brain. 

That was ten years ago now. 

Since then, Phil Coulson had fostered twelve teenage boys, always insisting on taking in hard cases that CPS had trouble placing. Most of them were older since it was common to have trouble placing sixteen and seventeen-year-olds who only needed another year or two before they would be released out into the world. 

Phil made a difference in their lives. He could see it. It wasn’t always easy, and it wasn’t always indicative of a movie on the Hallmark channel… but this was what really gave him a purpose in life. 

Down the road, he would look back on this time and find that it was fitting to give Clint Barton the honor of being his lucky thirteenth foster kid. 

As Phil climbed the stairs up to the front door, he could already hear the ruckus coming from inside. That was pretty impressive considering the kitchen – where he knew the boys should be – was on the second floor.

He entered the house and immediately made his way upstairs to the comfort of his chaos.

There were loud voices echoing around the second floor of the brownstone. Tony was sitting at a barstool at the counter and was complaining loudly about wanting French toast while Steve was yelling over him from the stove that if he wanted French toast he could make it his damn self. Thor was laughing loudly as he emptied the dishwasher – something he was supposed to have done the night before but had obviously forgotten until they realized they had no clean dishes for breakfast – clanging glasses and dishes so loud that Phil couldn’t help but fear they would break. Phil swore that half his paycheck went to replacing dishware every month. Bruce, to his credit, was attempting to stay out of the fray standing quietly off to the side, though Phil couldn’t help but wish the kid could find a balance between uncontrollable anger and quiet as a mouse.

Phil smiled as he stepped off the stairs and fully onto the second floor of the brownstone, which had the kitchen at the back end and a living room on the other, separated by a bar countertop that spanned about half the width of the room with stools lined up. Never once had Phil missed the quiet of the big old house from before he started taking in foster kids. 

“Alright,” Phil called loudly to announce his presence. “Let’s keep it to a dull roar, shall we? I don’t need any more complaints from the neighbors.” He said it lightly with a smile though, so as not to be confused with an actual scolding. 

“I would like to lodge a formal complaint with management,” Tony announced, with an air that he was about to make a formal presentation on the floor of Congress. 

“And you’re more than welcome to do so,” Phil invited as he approached the kitchen. “State your case, kid.” 

“This is the third day in a row that we’ve had pancakes for breakfast!” Tony asserted as if this alone was a personal offense. “I made a _polite_ request for Mr. Golden Boy to switch it up, and he had the audacity to yell at me!” 

Phil rolled his eyes, knowing full well that wasn’t how the morning had gone. 

Steve scoffed. “A polite request? More like a loud, obnoxious demand after I already started making the pancakes!” His eyes never left the skillet where he had just poured three piles of batter. 

“We’ve had pancakes three days in a row!” Tony pressed, as if that fact alone made his argument irrefutable. 

“Hey, you’re welcome to make your own breakfast,” Steve said with a shrug and a smile tugging at his lips. “You’ll have to hit the store though, because like I told you _three times_ , we don’t even have all the ingredients for French toast.” 

“Phil, can we have a ruling?” Tony pleaded.

Phil shrugged both shoulders. “Sorry, Tony, you know the rules,” he said. “Whoever’s turn it is to cook gets to decide what we eat. When it’s your turn to make breakfast, you can make all the French toast you want.”

Tony sighed and slouched down, bracing his elbows on the counter in front of him. “Not fair,” he mumbled. 

“Where were you so early this morning?” Thor questioned as he finished putting away the clean dishes and closed the dishwasher a little too hard with his foot. 

“I got a call from Maria Hill this morning,” Phil said conversationally as he pulled a banana from the fruit basket they kept on the counter. “There was something she wanted to discuss.”

The statement got an immediate reaction from every kid in the room. Tony snapped back up into an upright position, Thor spun around to fully look at Phil, Bruce took an involuntary step back away from the kitchen and even Steve gave an uneasy glance over his shoulder before turning his attention back to flipping pancakes. 

Phil really couldn’t blame them. The mention of their social worker rarely meant good news. Phil knew for a fact that in these boys’ former homes – for he was not the first foster parent to any of these boys – unscheduled visits or meetings with social workers generally meant that someone was about to get relocated for one reason or another. 

“Stand down, guys,” Phil assured them. “It wasn’t about any of you.”

The relief was almost palpable as everyone seemed to deflate. 

“So… what was it about?” Tony asked, glancing at Phil a bit suspiciously. 

“We’ll talk about it over breakfast,” Phil assured him. “Why don’t you help Bruce set the table?”

“I think he’s very much capable of handling that himself,” Tony drawled. 

“Yes, but if you do it together think of the glowing teamwork report I can give to your parole officer,” Phil pointed out with a smirk. 

Tony rolled his eyes but grudgingly slid off the stool to help take out the plates and cups that Thor had just finished putting away. As Phil watched Tony and Bruce set the table, he couldn’t help but frown thinking about how they were going to squeeze a sixth setting onto a table that was really only meant for four people. Clint was small, so it might not be too much to double up on another side of the table. He’d have to track down another chair though. Or maybe it was simply time to invest in a bigger kitchen table… 

Finally, they had the table set and food distributed. However, as they all sat down to eat, the atmosphere was more tense than it usually was. Everyone was still obviously concerned about the fact that Phil had met with their social worker that morning. He had been planning to wait until they finished eating, but he figured it’d be better to put their minds at ease sooner than that. 

“So, as you guys know, I had a meeting with Miss Hill this morning,” Phil reiterated. He glanced around the table and was a little surprised to find everyone’s eyes already on him. It was a very rare moment where he had everyone’s undivided attention. “She wanted to talk to me about one of her new cases.”

“Oh no,” Tony groaned as he sat back in his chair. “Don’t tell me you were at the pound and picked out another new puppy.”

Phil glared at him, not caring at all for that analogy. Tony immediately snapped his mouth shut at the look, having the good grace to look at least mildly repentant. 

“He’s right, though, isn’t he?” Bruce said quietly, surprising all of them. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You’re bringing home another kid?”

Phil sighed. Of course, they would beat him to the punch. 

“It’s a special case and Miss Hill was desperate,” Phil explained. “This kid has a hearing next week and if he doesn’t have a place to live, the judge is probably going to default to the maximum sentence just to keep him off the streets.” He cut a look at Tony. “You might know something about that kind of situation.”

Tony crossed his arms over his chest but didn’t comment. 

“But… aren’t we full up?” Steve asked slowly, looking more confused than anything. “Where are you even gonna put another bed?”

“Well, chances are even with the best-case scenario, this kid is going to get time,” Phil explained. “We’ll probably have sixty to ninety days to get ready for him.” He paused, knowing how this next part was going to go over. “You know that attic project I’ve mentioned a few times…”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Tony said with exasperation. “Manual labor? It’s almost summer time! Doesn’t that mean we get time off? I mean, why don’t we wait for the new puppy to get here and he can build his own damn room.”

“Tony,” Phil said sternly. 

“What? I can’t be the only one thinking it,” Tony asserted. “It’s one thing to take in another puppy, it’s another to demand that the current puppies build the new puppy an entire room.” He glanced around the table for support. “Right? I’m not the only one, am I?”

There was uncomfortable shifting around the table. Phil looked at each of them, seeing that they weren’t agreeing, though didn’t seem keen on disagreeing either. 

“Well, you know my policy about open communication in this house,” Phil finally declared. “I want to hear from each of you. Let’s go around the table.” There was the usual moaning and groaning that went with what the boys affectionately referred to as ‘ _Feelings Time_ ,’ but Phil ignored it. “We’ve already heard Tony’s thoughts. Thor? Do you want to chime in?”

“I have no objection to a little manual labor to pass the time this summer,” Thor stated immediately. Then he hesitated before carefully going on. “But I will admit that it can be stressful to bring a new person into the house when it already can feel crowded.” His eyes darted toward Tony.

Phil nodded. “That’s a fair concern,” he agreed. He turned his gaze. “Bruce?” 

Bruce frowned down at his breakfast, idly pushing around syrup with his fork. “I’m not very good at building things,” he mumbled, not looking up at any of them. 

“Well then, it could be a good learning experience,” Phil pointed out. He waited to see if Bruce would go on. When he didn’t, he finally turned his attention to the last person at the table. “Steve?” 

Steve fidgeted uneasily in his seat, glancing down at his food before putting down his fork and looking up at the rest of them. 

“It’s not ideal,” he finally said. “Things are already cramped enough as it is here with just the five of us. I can’t even imagine what adding a sixth is going to do to the morning bathroom routines when we’re trying to get out the door and to school in the fall.” 

Tony grinned triumphantly, before Steve took a deep breath and continued. 

“But, we’ve all needed a break and Phil was kind enough to give it to us. We all know what it’s like to get bounced around and to feel like an unwanted guest in someone else’s home. Some of us even know what it’s like to be facing a higher juvie sentence just because no one wants to take you in.” His eyes darted toward Tony – who had deflated at the direction this had turned – and skimmed over Bruce before focusing back on Phil. “I think if you think we can make this work, then I believe you.”

Phil smiled, proud of Steve’s perspective. 

“Can’t we at least _hire_ someone to build out the attic?” Tony groused. 

“Think of it as family bonding time,” Phil said with a smirk. 

Tony rolled his eyes. “Like we don’t get enough of that as it is.”

“Careful, Tony,” Phil said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you weren’t grateful.”

Tony sighed at that. “You know that I am, Phil,” he mumbled, suddenly interested in studying his food. 

Phil nodded in satisfaction. Reminding Tony to be humble had been a chore when he had first taken him in, so Phil could be grateful that it was becoming more of a weekly reminder rather than an hourly reminder these days. 

“When do we get started?” Thor asked, and Phil had to genuinely smile when the kid sounded almost eager. 

“I’ll start planning what we’ll need for material over the next week,” Phil told them. “Once there’s a ruling at Clint’s hearing next week we’ll be able to put together a timetable for getting this done before he’s released.”

“So that’s his name?” Bruce asked. “Clint?”

Phil nodded. “Clint Barton,” he clarified. “He’s had a tough go at life so far, as I’m sure you guys can relate to.” His eyes wandered to each boy sitting at his table. “I know this is coming out of left field for us, but I hope that you’ll remember what it’s like to be placed in a new home. This kid is going to need the same support that was given to each of you when you first arrived.” There were nods with varying degrees of enthusiasm at that.

Phil was careful to steer the conversation back to normal breakfast conversations after that, not wanting to dwell on this one thing all morning. But as they finished breakfast and Thor and Bruce were cleaning up while Tony disappeared upstairs – likely to sulk and tinker with some of his science experiments – Phil quietly requested Steve to join him downstairs in his office. 

“I appreciate you helping to rally the others this morning,” Phil said when they were downstairs and out of earshot of the others. 

Phil didn’t take a seat behind his desk, but rather took the armchair pushed off to one side of the room while Steve perched on the nearby couch. It was a space that Phil had set up that could be used for conversations that didn’t feel as formal as having him looming over his kids from behind a desk. 

Steve shrugged a shoulder. “No problem,” he said with a smile. “I like to think after all this time I’ve gotten some perspective.”

While Thor was the oldest in the house, Steve had been with Phil the longest. Phil had taken in Steve when he was nine years old, the youngest kid that Phil had fostered to that point. But, in Steve’s short two-year stint in the foster care system before Phil got to him, the kid had been bounced around to six different homes. He didn’t even unpack his bag for the first year he had lived with Phil, convinced that this wasn’t going to be permanent. 

Six years later and Phil still smiled when he saw Steve’s things strewn on the floor of his room. 

“I wanted to run something by you without the entire Council listening in,” Phil went on.

“Okay,” Steve said, though he suddenly looked wary. 

“I know that with the way the conversation went, you guys all assumed that we would be building out the attic for the new kid,” Phil said. “But I don’t think that’s going to be the best course of action here. And I imagine there will be a mutiny when this comes out, but I’m thinking about putting one of you guys up there.”

Steve nodded. “But… why?” he asked carefully. “I mean, things seem to be going well with how things are right now. Bruce somehow gets along with Tony, I manage to not smother Thor in his sleep. Do you really think it’s a good idea to shake the dynamic up again?”

“Those are good points,” Phil allowed. “But I just don’t think it’s going to be the best idea to put a kid like Clint up in the attic by himself. I think that’s going to make him feel isolated and that’s not what we want with a new member of this family.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” Steve admitted. “So… who are you planning on giving the new room to?”

“I was thinking of moving Thor up there,” Phil said carefully, studying the teenager in front of him to gage his reaction to what he was about to suggest. “And then I could put Clint in your room with you.”

Steve fidgeted uncomfortably at that, and Phil felt a pang of guilt. Steve was a good kid, he would never want to outright deny a reasonable request. It didn’t mean that he wasn’t a typical teenager who wanted to. 

“I mean… if that’s what you want to do,” Steve finally hedged, not quite looking at him. 

“I know I told you I wouldn’t be shuffling you guys around anymore,” Phil admitted apologetically. 

With four kids in the four beds that Phil had and the oldest only sixteen, once they had found this balance of roommates Phil had promised not to move anyone around for at least the next two years. Before the current arrangement, Tony had shared a room with Thor, which had almost ended in bloodshed on several occasions. When Steve’s previous roommate, Sam, had aged out and gone off to college he had quickly been replaced by Bruce. Initially Bruce had been sharing a room with Steve, but it didn’t take long before a trade had been proposed after it was realized how much Tony and Bruce had in common. Thor was only too happy to oblige in the switch. 

“And I meant it when I said it,” Phil went on. “But with this new development… I don’t want to split up Tony and Bruce, they are actually working well together and it’s good that they can connect over their interests in science. And Thor means well, but I think he still lacks a certain maturity level and honestly I’m afraid he’d scare the new kid off.”

“So, I’m the last resort,” Steve supplied, frowning slightly. 

“No, not at all,” Phil quickly assured him. “I think you’re the logical choice. Clint won’t be your first rookie and honestly, I’m thinking you’re the only one who’ll be able to handle him. He’s going to need a lot of patience as he adjusts.” He paused before he went on quickly. “But I’m giving you veto power. If you say you don’t want to, I’ll figure out a different arrangement.”

Steve sighed, but smiled. “No, it’s okay. I’ll bunk with the new kid. Can’t be any more difficult than bunking with Tony when he first got here.”

Phil laughed. “I hope you’re right. I don’t think any of us would be able to handle another Tony.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who commented on the first chapter! I really appreciate all the kind words!!

**Chapter Two**

Phil was working down in his office when the doorbell rang. He took a deep breath. No matter how many times he did this, he would still find it just a bit unsettling to welcome a new kid into his home, especially when he already had a good balance of kids that he was looking after. Adding another person to the mix always tended to put everyone off balance, especially considering the unstable nature of most of the kids that Phil took in. This time also held the extra worry about having to handle five teenage boys for the first time in his life.

He desperately hoped that he wasn't about to make a big mistake.

Taking another deep, steadying breath, he headed for the door. All he could do at this point was move forward and hope for the best.

"Hello, welcome," Phil said with an easy smile as he opened the door. He had learned long ago that too much enthusiasm didn't tend to go over well with these types of kids.

"Hi, Phil," Maria greeted briskly, though there was tension in her features. "Listen, I hate to drop and run, but I actually need to. I just got an emergency call on my way here that I need to see to."

"No problem, I know the drill," Phil assured her.

Maria nodded before she turned to the small figure standing a strategic step behind her. Phil hadn't seen Clint since his sentencing two months ago, and even then he hadn't gotten a chance for a formal introduction. The boy's eyes were pinned on Phil with an almost intimidating amount of intensity for a thirteen year old kid. Phil noticed that he was sporting a fresh looking bruise resting on his cheekbone as well as a split lip. They must have tried to introduce him back into the general population of the juvenile detention facility.

"Here are your things," Maria told Clint, who's eyes darted to her quickly as she held out the worn, faded purple backpack. "Just let Phil know what else you need, he's very accommodating to reasonable requests." She paused, but Clint just stared at her. She sighed lightly to herself as she reached into her pocket and handed something to him. "This is my card, which has my cell phone number on it. If you need anything at all, you call me anytime, day or night." Clint silently reached out and took the card, shoving it into the back pocket of his worn jeans. "I'll be back to check in in about a week. You take care, alright?"

Clint made no attempt to respond as he simply shifted his stoic gaze from Maria to Phil. Maria looked at Phil and gave him a helpless shrug, but Phil waved the gesture off. He had no illusions about this being easy.

As Maria retreated back down the front steps and back to her car parked on the curb, Phil took a step back and gestured into the house.

"Come on in," he invited warmly.

Clint slung the backpack over one shoulder, ducking his head slightly as he quickly slipped past Phil. He stopped and turned in the entryway, looking at Phil expectantly.

"Well, we haven't gotten a chance yet for a proper introduction," Phil said briskly as he closed the door and turned to his new charge. "My name is Phil Coulson. You're welcome to just call me Phil though."

He paused more out of habit than anything, as it was generally accepted that a person would then offer up their own name. Of course, Clint did not.

"So, your name is Clinton Barton," Phil went on. "Do you go by Clint?" He didn't like to assume what a kid preferred to go by, knowing that some preferred their full and proper names.

Clint seemed to consider that for a moment before he nodded once. Well, that was a small improvement at least.

"Okay, Clint," Phil said. "Well, I'm very happy to have you here. I'm not sure what Miss Hill has already told you, but I have been fostering kids just like yourself for about ten years now. I know you've been bounced around a lot, but this is a place that most kids come and finally find a home. I have four other boys living here right now and we all work together to keep the house running. We'll get more into that later though." He paused. "Do you have any questions?"

Clint simply blinked at him.

"Let me know if you have any questions or concerns at any point," Phil said. "I have an open communication policy in this house." He paused. "Shall we take the tour?"

Clint shrugged one shoulder, looking unimpressed by this whole process. But Phil counted it as a good sign that the kid was making the effort to communicate at all, even if he wouldn't actually speak.

"Okay," Phil said briskly as he led the way into the house. "This is my office down here," he said, gesturing. "There's also an area over here where I'll meet one on one with any of my kids if they need to talk. Back there is my bedroom. If you ever need something in the night you can always come down here and knock. You'll also be sharing a room with Steve who will also be happy to help."

He looked to Clint to gauge some sort of reaction to the space. Clint hardly glanced at the area in front of them though, but rather was looking up at him from the corner of his eye through bangs that could probably use a good trim.

"Okay then, let's head upstairs," Phil said, motioning toward the stairs.

Phil led the way up to the second level. About halfway up the stairs, he had to glance over his shoulder to make sure Clint was following and was a little surprised to find that he was. The stairs were wooden and he wasn't sure he had ever heard anyone ascend them without making a sound.

"Up here on the second floor, we have the kitchen," Phil narrated as they reached the floor. He gestured to the side of the room that housed the kitchen. "You're welcome to help yourself, but we do all sit down together for breakfast and dinner every day. Lunch tends to be more of a free-for-all when school's out." He pointed to where Steve was sitting on one of the stools by the bar, working on some of his summer school homework. "That's Steve, you'll be sharing a room with him."

Steve half turned at the sound of his name and gave a smile and a wave before turning back to his homework. All the boys knew not to crowd newcomers, knowing from experience how overwhelming that could be.

Phil turned to indicate the living room, where Tony and Thor were engrossed in an intense video game.

"This is a general hang out area where the guys like to spend downtime. It's got your basics: television, books over in that bookcase, some board games in the closet over there. As Tony and Thor are so aptly demonstrating, we recently got some kind of video game system. You'll have to ask the guys about that though, because I know nothing about it."

He sent Clint a sheepish smile to which Clint only stared blankly back at him. It was eerie. Phil thought it was probably the first time that he got absolutely no read off a kid. He had kids come to him with anger, fear, sadness, relief… he'd seen it all. But, for all intents and purposes, it appeared as if there were simply no one home when it came to Clint Barton.

"We'll do more formal introductions with the other boys later after you've had a chance to settle in a bit," Phil assured him. All he could really do was fill the awkward silence with his usual spiel for newcomers. "Come on, I'll show you your room."

He led Clint back to the stairs and up to the third floor.

"I know it's a lot of stairs, but it usually doesn't take long to get used to," Phil assured him as they climbed, mostly just to be saying something. "Now, one thing that you have to understand is that there are no doors on the bedrooms up here. I get a lot of troubled kids through here and I've found that having this no door policy keeps everyone better in line and more accountable. That being said, I don't come up here much. As much as I can, I leave these upper floors as your domain. I let you guys police each other and figure out how to coexist. I only get involved when it's completely necessary."

This piece of information usually got _some_ kind of reaction, usually anger or at least surprise. But as he glanced back at Clint, he might as well have been speaking to a brick wall.

And in that moment, he felt sure that this was going to be one of his toughest cases yet.

"This is Tony and Bruce's room over here," he directed, just glimpsing Bruce sitting on the bottom bunk with a book. Bruce gave them a glance but then quickly lifted his book to better block his face. Clint's eyes lingered on him for a moment before Phil redirected him. "Thor's room is just up the stairs on the fourth floor. And there's a bathroom at the end of the hall. And, of course, this is your room." He led Clint into the room.

The room wasn't overly large. There was a bunk bed pushed off against the wall on the left, one desk in the far corner facing the wall next to the window and another directly opposite facing the wall next to the door. Between the two desks were two identical dressers pushed up against the right wall.

"I know that Steve currently has the bottom bunk as well as this desk," his hand skimmed the desk closest to the door, "and the dresser next to it. But if you want to switch him for any of those I'm sure you can work that out with him. He's not usually too picky." He paused even though he didn't expect a response. "I'll leave you to get unpacked and get settled. We'll be having dinner down in the kitchen in about an hour, but feel free to come down and join us before that if you'd like."

Clint gave a slight nod, as he turned his head and took in the room. He eyed the empty hinges on the door a little skeptically, and Phil wondered vaguely if he hadn't believed him when he said there were no doors on the bedrooms. After a moment, Phil turned and headed back down the hallway. At the top of the stairs, Phil paused and couldn't help but glance back at the kid, looking for some kind of reaction. But Clint just stood there, stoically taking in his new surroundings.

Phil headed back downstairs to find that everyone was right where he had left them.

"How'd it go?" Steve asked, looking up from his homework as Phil walked into the kitchen.

"Hard to say," Phil admitted. "He didn't have much of a reaction to anything." He paused. "It's strange. With his aversion to speaking, I expected him to be more… timid. But I didn't sense much fear from him. Mostly just… indifference."

"Sounds like he's going to be a barrel of laughs," Tony called sarcastically across the room, his eyes still glued to the television screen.

"Sounds like you're going to remember that being the new guy isn't easy," Phil reminded him lightly. "And you weren't the most chatty kid when you first got here either."

"Yeah, well, withdrawal will do that to a kid," Tony mumbled distractedly.

An hour later with dinner on the table, Bruce came wandering down to the kitchen. They waited for the Clint to come down, but several minutes and several grumblings from both Tony and Thor about rumbling stomachs, Phil sent Steve up to fetch the kid. Steve returned a few minutes later with Clint in tow.

Clint carefully slid into the last seat at the table, glancing around at the others almost as if he were calculating something.

"Dig in," Phil invited.

Both Thor and Tony suddenly lunged from either end of the table for the plate of chicken placed in the middle. Thor snagged it first, giving a triumphant laugh as he speared the largest piece of chicken onto his plate.

"Really?" Steve sighed with exasperation as he looked back and forth between the two.

"You'd think I never feed you guys," Phil said sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he reached for the vegetables. He spooned out a generous amount onto his plate, hoping to set a good example, before passing the bowl on.

They passed around all the plates with light jabs at each other, as well as Phil encouraging each kid to take more vegetables. Phil kept a subtle eye on Clint, who was watching all the interactions with the other boys with an intense blue-gray gaze. Clint silently took plates only when they were offered to him and only portioned out small helpings, despite the fact that there was enough on the table for ten people with normal sized appetites, which should be just enough for five growing teenage boys.

But tonight, Phil didn't comment on that. It was the kid's first night in a new home, he knew from experience that trying to push him too much outside of his comfort zone this soon could cause him to shut down. For tonight, Phil would just let Clint exist however he felt most comfortable.

"Well, as we all know, we've got a new addition," Phil said as everyone finished dishing out their dinners.

"I thought it seemed a little more crowded at the table tonight," Tony murmured, smirking lightly as he playfully elbowed Bruce next to him.

"You'll learn to ignore him," Steve spoke up, sending an annoyed glance at Tony.

"Okay, okay," Phil said, bringing the attention back to him. "Now, this is a unique situation which is new to all of us." He focused on Clint, who was watching him carefully. "Up to this point, I have fostered up to four boys at a time. This is the first time that I've had five kids in the house. So, this will be a learning process for all of us."

Clint blinked at him, apparently unimpressed.

Phil usually gave the new kid a chance to speak first, but he guessed that wouldn't go over well given these unique circumstances. Maybe if he got the other boys talking, Clint might be more inclined to speak up.

"Well, while we eat we'll start off with some introductions," Phil said. "Just the basics and anything else you'd like to share with the group. Steve, you want to start us off?"

"Sure," Steve agreed. "My name is Steve Rogers. I'm fifteen and I've been in the foster care system since I was seven and my mom passed away of a heart condition. I was in six different homes in two years before I ended up here. Phil's been my guardian for the past six years."

"Don't forget you're the precious Golden Boy," Tony muttered.

"Tony," Phil said, a note of warning. "What have we talked about?"

"That my obsessive need to be the center of attention isn't my most attractive quality?" Tony offered innocently.

Phil sighed heavily. "More or less. You'll get your turn." He turned to the next kid. "Thor. You're next."

Thor had to take a minute to chew the massive bite of chicken he had just taken before he could speak.

"I'm Thor Sonodin," Thor said with a grin. "My tarents're really into—"

"Thor," Phil cut in patiently. "Slow down, kid. Think about your words."

"Oh, sorry," Thor said sheepishly. He paused, thinking over what he wanted to say before he tried again. He spoke at a more consciously measured pace, a look of mild concentration on his face. "I am Thor Odinson. My parents were really into Norse mythology when they named my brother and I." He smiled, looking more confident. "You will have to forgive me, I was born with an affliction called speech apraxia, so I sometimes mix up my words and sounds."

Clint leaned forward slightly, as if to get a better look at Thor. His intense gaze was pinned on Thor, looking a bit curious or concerned, Phil couldn't quite decide which. But it was more than a reaction than he had given to anything else so far.

"I am sixteen years old and I have been in and out of foster care since I was ten," Thor went on. "I have spent most of the last two years with Phil, although I did go back with my parents for a few months a little over a year ago when my father convinced social services that he had quit drinking… again." His face fell slightly before he caught himself. "But Phil's home has always been welcoming to me."

Phil smiled at that. "And it always will be," he assured him. He shifted his attention. "Bruce?"

"I, um," Bruce mumbled, shifting uncomfortably under the sudden attention. This was Bruce's first time on this side of the introductions. His eyes remained on his plate as he pushed peas around with his spoon. "My name is Bruce Banner. I'm fourteen. I've been here for about six months and been in foster care for almost two years." He shot Phil an anxious look.

"That's okay if that's all you want to share, Bruce," Phil told him gently. Bruce nodded immediately. "Okay, that's fine." He shifted his gaze to Tony, who was practically vibrating in his seat as he waited his turn to speak. Phil made him wait another beat before he put him out of his misery. "Okay Tony. Go ahead."

"Tony Stark, heir to the Stark Pharmacological empire, perhaps you've heard of me, read about my entire scandal in the papers," Tony said, speaking so quickly his words practically tripped over each other. Clint actually sat back in his chair, as if the words had been a force that pushed him backward. "Some would call me a prodigy, others would say misguided youth hell bent on getting attention—"

"Tony," Phil cut in warily. "Let's not overwhelm the new kid. Just give us the Cliff Notes version."

Tony visibly deflated at that. "Fine," he relented. "Here's the breakdown. I started dealing drugs that I swiped from my dad's company when I was eleven, took my first hit when I was thirteen, and managed to hospitalize myself that year with an overdose. When my parents were driving to the hospital that night… well they never made it. Car wreck." Tony's voice tightened before he pushed on. "I bounced around to a couple boarding schools after that until I was fourteen and got arrested for still dealing. After that, all the prestigious boarding schools got together and decided that I apparently was not prestigious boarding school material and I was bounced here. Phil's been putting up with me for a little over a year now. I've also been clean for about a year now." He shrugged as he focused back on his dinner. "Funny how that works."

"Thank you, Tony," Phil said. Tony Stark was nothing if not an open book. He focused back on Clint. "Is there anything about yourself that you'd like to share, Clint?"

All attention shifted to the new kid at the table, with even Bruce peeking up through his eyelashes.

The silence following the question was heavy. What was strange was that Clint didn't appear to have any kind of reaction to the question. He didn't seem uncomfortable, angry, embarrassed, or any of the emotions Phil had come to associate with kids who didn't want to participate in the first day introductions. Clint appeared very passive about the entire situation, absently pushing food around his plate with his fork while his gaze flicked around to each person around the table.

"You can share however much or little you're comfortable with," Phil encouraged. "This is not meant to be a big group therapy session or anything like that." He paused as Clint's gaze settled on him. But after a few long moments, it was clear that he still had no interest in speaking. "That's okay. Maybe after you settle in you'll feel more up to sharing a little bit about yourself. There's no rush."

Clint pinned him with a neutral look. He blinked. Then he dropped his gaze down, spearing a chunk of potato and popping it in his mouth.

"Scintillating," Tony muttered as he snorted a laugh into his plate.

"Tony," Phil snapped sharply, causing not only Tony but also Bruce to flinch. It was very rare when Phil raised his voice. "This is your last warning. You should know better by now, kid."

Tony gave a very dramatic sigh as he rolled his eyes but refrained from making any more comments.

Phil directed the conversation in a more typical direction, taking the attention off Clint. But as the conversation migrated to more usual subjects, Phil couldn't help but keep glancing over at Clint periodically. The kid seemed to have two default functions. He was either staring down at his plate, seemingly oblivious to anything going on around him, or he had a hard, calculating gaze on someone at the table.

It was perhaps the first time in his life that Phil had no idea what to make of a person. Clint Barton was an enigma. And Phil honestly wasn't sure how he was going to handle this new situation.

* * *

Steve walked into his bedroom that night to find the new kid standing by the window. Clint was fiddling with the lock in the middle of the frame experimentally, and Steve could almost see the thought process. This wasn't the first time he had shared a room with a flight risk.

"That opens," Steve informed the back of Clint's head conversationally. "Phil figures if someone can figure out how to get down the three stories, they've earned it."

Clint had no reaction, didn't even glance back at him. That wasn't terribly surprising. He hadn't said a word all through dinner and then had immediately retreated back upstairs once they were excused from the table.

At the moment, Clint seemed absorbed in working his fingers under the lip of the window, and Steve knew that it tended to stick and could be a challenge to muscle open sometimes. On a whim, Steve walked forward. He wasn't terribly surprised as Clint flinched away from him and then took a step away for good measure as Steve came up beside him. But instead of acknowledging the reaction, Steve simply worked his fingers under the lip of the window and with a few good yanks finally got it to drag open about halfway, letting in the warm August air.

Steve shifted so that he was facing Clint, who was watching him warily.

"It's a long way down," Steve said with a pointed glance toward the window. "Might want to at least give this place a shot before risking broken limbs."

Clint raised his eyebrows at that, obviously surprised by the invitation. His gaze drifted between Steve and the window and then he carefully leaned back against the desk behind him, settling in.

Huh. Maybe he just wanted some fresh air.

Steve glanced behind him. "Are you okay with the top bunk?" he asked, thumbing back toward the bunk bed. "I can switch you if you prefer the bottom."

Clint blink at him for a moment before his gaze slid by him to look at the bed. Then he looked back at Steve and carefully shook his head.

"You want the top?" Steve said, to be sure he was making the right assumption.

Clint nodded.

Steve smiled, encouraged that he was at least getting some kind of communication from this kid. "I've got summer school on Mondays and Wednesdays, so I'm gonna head to bed soon. But I'm a pretty heavy sleeper, so don't feel like you have to go to bed when I do. The others are usually up playing video games downstairs well into the night if you want to join them." Clint shifted uncomfortably. "Don't let them intimidate you. They can be a lot sometimes – especially Tony – but they're all essentially good guys."

Clint didn't appear to have much of a reaction to that, so Steve decided to leave him to his own devices. Steve headed back out of the room and down the hallway toward the bathroom to brush his teeth before bed.

Steve was halfway through brushing when Tony appeared startlingly quickly in the doorway, charging in as if the bathroom was empty and almost causing Steve to drop his toothbrush. Tony skidded to a halt, looking just as surprised to see Steve.

Biting the toothbrush in his mouth, Steve raised his eyebrows and held out his hands in a clear _what the hell are you doing_ gesture.

"Oh, sorry!" Tony said with a light laugh. "Thor beat me to the downstairs bathroom and I really gotta go!"

"Gi'e me a minu'," Steve mumbled around his toothbrush as he continued to brush.

Tony remained in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably as if to make sure Steve didn't forget about him. Steve was tempted to take his time just to spite him but decided that would be too mean. With five people in the house and only three bathrooms, they had all been in Tony's position before.

"Has he said anything yet?" Tony asked suddenly as he glanced over his shoulder toward Steve and Clint's room.

Steve didn't need to ask for clarification. He paused to lean over and spit into the sink. "No, not yet."

"Huh," Tony said thoughtfully.

"Tony, don't give him a hard time about it," Steve warned as he rinsed his toothbrush and dropped it back in the holder before turning to address Tony properly.

"I just think it's fascinating," Tony said defensively.

"Not everyone feels the need to fill every moment of silence like you do," Steve pointed out dryly.

"Yeah, but we all know _why_ that is," Tony said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Pathological need for attention due to neglect, blah, blah, blah, that's old news." He leaned one shoulder up against the frame of the door and crossed his arms over his chest. "You can't tell me you're not curious. I mean, you're sharing a room with the guy."

Steve sighed, reluctant to admit the truth in that. Steve had been in the system for eight years now and this was a first for him. He had seen plenty of kids who were quiet, but never completely silent like this.

"It's not likely that he's a monk who's taken a vow of silence, right?" Tony went on distractedly.

"Just give him some space," Steve said as he started out of the bathroom, having to turn sideways to get past Tony when he didn't move. "He'll settle in eventually and then maybe he'll start opening up."

"Are we sure he _can_ talk?" Tony mused as if he hadn't heard Steve.

Steve paused in the hallway when Tony remained where he was, a pensive look on his face.

"Tony."

"Yeah?" Tony said, turning to look at him hopefully.

"Didn't you have to pee?"

For a beat, Tony's face was completely blank, as if he had no idea what Steve was talking about. Then a truly comedic level of realization crashed over his features as he murmured _sonofabitch_ under his breath and spun back around to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him in his haste.

Steve snorted a laugh as he rolled his eyes and headed back down the hallway to his room.

Steve reentered the bedroom and at a glance it looked like it was empty. He eyed the still open window, but figured it was a good sign that the screen was still firmly in place. Maybe Clint had decided to go downstairs and play video games with the others after all.

But as he moved farther into the room, he glanced up and saw Clint sitting up on the top bunk. He had settled himself into the corner, the worn purple backpack he had shown up with wedged between him and the wall. Steve recognized the habit of protecting the only belongings you had in the world.

"No one's going to steal your stuff here," Steve said.

Clint regarded him neutrally but didn't move.

"There's extra toothbrushes behind the mirror in the bathroom if you need one," Steve said. "You can borrow something to sleep in too if you don't have anything." He paused, but Clint made no effort to answer. Then, Steve had a thought. "Do you need something to sleep in?"

For a moment, Clint remained completely still. Then he gave a small but reluctant nod.

Okay. So ' _yes or no_ ' questions had the best chance of getting some kind of response. Steve decided that was progress.

Steve went into one of the drawers in his dresser and pulled out a clean pair of athletic shorts – careful to pick a pair with a functioning drawstring, since Clint was obviously going to need to tie them on his small frame – and a t-shirt. He placed the clothes on the edge of the top bunk and then turned and busied himself with changing into his own pajamas.

After he changed, he glanced back up at Clint and saw he hadn't made any move toward the clothes Steve had given him. The kid seemed tense, wound tighter than a rubber band. Steve took a deep breath and decided to take a chance.

"I know what it's like to be passed around in the system," Steve said. "I didn't fit in to the system either. When I was seven, I was diagnosed with leukemia. About four months later, my mom passed away. I was shuffled around to six different homes over the course of two years because no one could handle all my medical problems long term. I got to the point where I figured that's all my life would be, being a burden that was just passed from one family to another until the cancer finally won."

He took a deep breath. It was a long time ago, but it was a wound that still stung from time to time. He looked up to Clint to see if he was even paying attention. Clint's eyes were fixed on him, but his expression was unreadable.

"I was nine when I was placed in Phil's care. I thought it was just going to be another temporary place for me until I became too much to handle. It wasn't long after I came here when my condition took a turn for the worst. I was hospitalized for an entire month. And even though Phil had two other boys staying with him at the time, he still made a point to sit with me in the hospital every single day I was there. Over the next couple years Phil proved time and time again that he wasn't just another temporary place to crash. I lived here two years before my leukemia finally went into remission, and that entire time, Phil never once wavered, never once seemed to reconsider taking me in.

"After my mom died, I didn't think I would ever feel at home anywhere ever again. But, I promise you, Phil is one of the good guys. He will help you if you let him. And he won't give up on you. If you want it to be, this can be your home. You just have to give it a chance."

Of course, there was no response, or even an indication that Clint was really listening to him.

Steve resigned himself for the night as he headed for his bed. Clint might be more shut down than most of the kids who showed up at Phil's, but everyone adjusted eventually. Phil just had this way about him, a patient and steady support that seemed so rare to kids like them who didn't quite fit into the system. Phil would know what to do, Steve had no doubt as he drifted off to sleep.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

Ironically, it was a bit unsettling how quickly everyone was able to get back to their normal routines after Clint’s arrival. Usually, when anyone would leave or join the house, there would be an adjustment period during which everyone had to figure out a new rhythm. But with Clint, it was barely noticeable that anything had changed at all. If it weren’t for Thor boasting about having his own room in the newly finished attic and a sixth chair squeezed in at the kitchen table, things could have been considered business as usual for the summer holidays in the house. 

Phil had to coax Clint down out of his room from meals, and other than that the other boys barely got glimpses of him. At first, it was assumed that he was holed up in his room all day. But four days after Clint arrived, Steve was sitting in the living room waiting for his turn in an intense video game tournament, when he turned and caught a glimpse of Clint sitting at the top of the stairs leading up to the bedrooms, watching them. Tony’s yelling drew Steve’s attention back to the game, and when he glanced back just a minute later, Clint was gone. 

It was more than a little unnerving. 

Phil started meeting with Clint privately in his office every day. Phil never discussed his meetings with any of the kids in the house, but judging by the frown Phil wore after coming up from each meeting, it wasn’t hard to tell that it wasn’t going well, and no progress was being made.

A week went by, and Clint Barton still had not spoken one word. 

“It’s creepy,” Tony announced as he, Steve, Thor and even Bruce – who they had managed to talk into going with them – walked down the crowded street toward a nearby park. “There’s something seriously not right about him.”

“Isn’t thata rerec—” Thor cut himself off, thinking over the words before trying again. “Is that not a prerequisite for ending up at Phil’s in the first place?”

It was a little strange listening to Thor speak sometimes. With his long blonde hair and bulk, he had the look of a brainless surfer dude or a clueless jock. But with speech therapy he had learned that breaking apart contractions helped him to slow down and speak more accurately. So, his words tended to come out oddly formal compared to his appearance. 

Tony rolled his eyes. “I mean, not right even by our significantly low standards.” He craned his head back toward Steve, who was walking a strategic few steps behind them in an attempt to be left out of the conversation. “He really hasn’t said one word?”

Steve sighed, bouncing the basketball they had brought with them absently as they walked along. “You already know the answer to that Tony.”

“I overheard Phil talking with Miss Hill,” Bruce spoke up unexpectedly. They all turned to Bruce in surprise. “He’s thinking about taking him to a doctor or something. Because he doesn’t know what else to do with him.”

Steve started at this news. It was perfectly normal for Phil to take them to a doctor or specialist if they needed it. But taking a kid to a doctor under these kinds of circumstances was risky for foster kids. If Clint continued to refuse to talk, that could be enough for a doctor to decide to put him in a psych ward and Phil would have no say over it. Moving foster kids around was always traumatic – all of them knew that from personal experience. Steve knew that Phil wouldn’t risk one of his kids getting taken away from him unless he really was at the end of his rope. 

“I still think they should check his vocal chords,” Tony said. “Maybe he’s mute.”

“No, it’s something more than that,” Steve said, giving in to the temptation to throw around theories. “Phil even offered to let him write down what he wanted to say, and he wouldn’t do that either. It’s like he just has no interest in communicating at all.”

By that point they had made it to the park and were approaching one of the unoccupied basketball half-courts. Usually it was only Steve and Thor that liked to go out and play basketball or toss around a football. Every once in a while though Tony would get in the mood to get outside. Despite the “huge nerd” persona he carefully cultivated at school, Steve was often impressed with Tony’s athletic abilities. It had taken some convincing – and bribing – on Bruce’s part to get him to partake, but this summer they had started a fairly regular weekly two-on-two basketball game. 

Of course, Clint hadn’t been anywhere to be found in order to invite along. 

As soon as Thor’s sneakers hit the asphalt, he spun around and held up his hands for the ball. “Check!” 

Steve smirked, letting all other thoughts melt away as he bounced the ball to Thor lazily with one hand. Thor bounced it back and without any further discussions, the game was on. 

Steve and Thor were definitely the more athletically skilled of the group, so they weren’t allowed on the same team. Bruce teamed well with Steve, since while Steve was competitive he knew Bruce was only here so that they would leave him alone for the next couple days. Bruce was content to not even try to dribble the ball, but he would catch and pass the ball when necessary. 

With the amount of time that Tony and Thor spent miscommunicating over strategy, Steve was actually able to keep up pretty well with Bruce’s minimal help. 

“Game point!” Thor announced an hour later as they were all drenched in sweat. He had just scored a layup to tie up the score 20-20. The next point would win the game. 

Steve was breathing heavily as he returned to the edge of the court and held up his hand for the ball. It was a little more humid than they had been expecting, and they were all a little relieved the game was almost over, so they could head back to the air conditioning. 

Steve checked the ball to Thor. As soon as the ball hit Steve’s hand he was moving, trying to dart past Thor toward the hoop. Thor was fast though and managed to angle him out toward the edge of the court. Steve spun in the other direction as Thor was getting in too close, looking for Bruce so he could get a little space. 

“Bruce!” Steve called as he used an overhead pass to send the ball to Bruce on the other side of the court. 

Tony, who had been heading over to double team Steve, turned and sprinted back toward Bruce. 

In Tony’s defense, as Steve was moving to try and get space from Thor, he did notice Tony trying to wipe sweat from his eyes as he was running. Which would explain how he wildly misjudged the distance between him and Bruce. Tony was reaching for the ball in Bruce’s grasp as Bruce was distracted watching Steve’s movements. But instead of grabbing the ball, Tony missed and ended up accidentally ramming his shoulder into Bruce’s chest, sending them both crashing down on the concrete. 

“Shit!” Steve spat as he quickly changed directions, Thor just a few steps behind him. 

“Fucking asshole!” Bruce was screaming, swinging an arm around at Tony as Tony struggled to crawl away from him. “It’s a fucking game, I didn’t even want to play, you’re such a goddamn asshole, I fucking hate you!”

“Bruce, Bruce, easy!” Steve implored as he struggled to get in between Bruce’s flying fists and Tony. 

“Jesus, it was a damn accident!” Tony yelled back, kicking out at Bruce out of instinct. 

Bruce didn’t appear to hear him as he continued to curse and throw punches. 

“Bruce, it was an accident, calm down,” Steve tried before taking a wild punch to his knee. “Thor!”

“I got Tony!” Thor said, moving in. 

Thor grabbed Tony under his arms and bodily dragged him away from Bruce. Steve darted behind Bruce, winding an arm around his shoulders as he hoped to restrain him without taking any more hits. He wasn’t that lucky though as Bruce’s elbow caught him solidly in the mouth. Steve yelped, a coppery taste in his mouth, but instead of backing off he held on tighter. 

“Bruce, just breath, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Steve insisted as Bruce continued to struggle. 

Thor appeared again to help hold Bruce’s legs down. It took several incredibly long minutes, but finally Bruce began to calm down marginally. 

Steve glanced around, noticing the uncomfortable amount of attention they had drawn. Several passersby had stopped with cell phones out, though they thankfully didn’t try to approach. Steve wasn’t sure if the police or an ambulance were called, but he wanted to get out of here before they found out. 

“Bruce, c’mon, let’s go home, okay?” Steve said lowly as he felt Bruce’s muscles beginning to relax. 

Steve let out a sigh of relief as Bruce gave a small, dazed nod. Experimentally, he loosened his grip to make sure Bruce wasn’t just placating him. Thankfully, despite the heavy, angry breaths, Bruce didn’t try to go after anybody. That was progress.

Steve looked over at Tony, who was still sitting on the concrete, panting for breath and glaring at them as he held one hand braced on his chest. 

“Tony, you alright?” Steve asked, concerned. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony murmured moodily as he pushed himself to his feet. “Let’s just get the hell outta here before the sirens show up.” 

Steve sent a glance at Thor, who got his meaning as he moved over to Tony. Even if Tony said he was okay, that didn’t mean that he was. Thor would walk near him and make sure he didn’t collapse on the walk back. Steve carefully let go of Bruce, who took the opportunity to shove himself to his feet, his features still dark with an anger that didn’t fit his small frame. 

Steve stood, sending an uneasy glance over the bystanders again. He gave a strained smile and a wave, hoping to assure them that they had everything under control. Then he hurried after the group that was already heading out. He touched his lip gingerly. Thankfully it wasn’t bleeding too much, but it already felt like it was swelling up. He sighed resignedly as he fell into step with the group. 

They were halfway home before Steve groaned to himself as he realized none of them had thought to grab the basketball. 

Finally, the weary group was trudging up the steps to the house. Tony was in the lead with Thor close behind. Steve balanced a distance just a step in front of Bruce, not wanting to let him lag behind but also not wanting him to get too close to Tony again. 

Tony threw open the front door with a loud bang. It was only as they were trooping into the house that Steve gave any thought to what time it was. He was still wondering as they came up the stairs to the second floor and heard the voice. 

“You guys aren’t subtle, are you?”

Phil was home from work. 

“You gotta get a handle on him, Phil,” Tony snapped as he stomped across the room. “He’s gonna fucking kill me one of these days.”

Steve came up onto the floor just in time to see Phil getting up from where he had been going through some papers at the kitchen table, coming over to them and looking over the four with concern. 

“Tony, language,” Phil said before shifting his focus to the other three. “What happened?”

Before Steve got a chance to answer, Bruce had reached out and shoved over a nearby end table, sending the magazines and lamp that had been sitting on it scattering to the ground. Steve sighed and simply held out a hand toward Bruce in explanation. 

“Bruce,” Phil said, shifting his focus.

“He did it on fucking purpose!” Bruce shouted, all the anger and rage returning. 

“Jesus, Bruce, no I didn’t!” Tony yelled from where he had thrown himself dramatically on the couch. 

“Bruce, take a deep breath,” Phil said calmly as he approached Bruce.

“Why doesn’t _he_ get yelled at for dropping f-bombs?” Tony demanded. 

“He doesn’t trow what he’s making, you trow that,” Thor said as he moved over to Tony. 

Tony rolled his eyes. “Sonofabitch, I can’t handle this fucking circus right now.”

It was at times like this, when the house was dissolving into complete chaos, that Steve’s gaze would go to Phil. In any other foster house, the guardian would be ready to explode or break down during this level of pandemonium. But Phil was different. He stopped in his tracks and closed his eyes. He breathed in and then breathed out. And then he opened his eyes and with a clear gaze he regarded the boys calmly. 

“Okay, I need everyone quiet right now, please,” Phil said evenly, as if this were any old day. “Thor, I need you to take a seat on the couch with Tony.” Thor obeyed immediately. Phil sent a glance at Steve, silently telling him to stay close. It wouldn’t be the first time he needed his help to restrain Bruce. “Bruce, look at me, please.”

Bruce clenched his fists and for a moment, everything was still. Then he whipped around and for a moment Steve tensed, thinking he was going to throw a punch at Phil. But he didn’t. That was a significant improvement from when Bruce had first been placed here. 

“Close your eyes,” Phil said. It took a moment, but with an angry snort Bruce did as he was told. “Breathe in… okay good now breathe out. That’s good Bruce. Relax your shoulders and unclench your jaw. Now do it again, breathe in… breathe out.”

There were several more minutes of this before Bruce leaned back against the wall behind him and sunk down to the floor, pulling his knees up to his chest. There was a collective sigh of relief in the room. Phil carefully knelt down in front of Bruce, who now looked dazed and drained. 

“Do you need an emergency dose of your meds, or do you have it under control?” Phil asked gently, ducking his gaze in an attempt to catch Bruce’s eye. 

Bruce swallowed and then rubbed at his eyes under his glasses. “No,” he mumbled quietly. “No, I don’t need it.” He took in a shaky breath. “I… I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Bruce,” Phil said with a smile. “You did so much better with keeping in control and calming down. This is an improvement.”

Bruce didn’t look comforted as he hung his head. 

Phil sighed lightly to himself as he stood back up and looked around, taking stock of everyone. “Is everyone else okay?”

Phil’s gaze lingered on Steve, noticing the blood on his lip. 

“Tony fell pretty hard,” Steve said, knowing that was more important. 

“I’m fine,” Tony said, waving a dismissive hand from where he was slumped on the couch as Phil whirled toward him. 

“Are you sure?” Phil pressed as he crossed the room, looking Tony up and down critically. “Nothing hurts, nothing feels out of place?”

Tony sighed, loud and dramatic. “No, nothing like that. Pretty sure I’ll live.” 

“Make sure you let me know if that changes,” Phil said lightly. Then he shifted his gaze. “Thor?”

“I am uh-unharmed,” Thor confirmed, speaking carefully. Stress tended to exacerbate his speech apraxia. 

Phil nodded as he looked to Steve, who answered without being asked. “Just got an elbow to the mouth, it’s not a big deal.” 

“Okay,” Phil said, relieved. “No real harm done then, everyone is still in one piece. Bruce, would you like to come downstairs with me and talk about what happened?” 

Bruce nodded dismally. He heavily pushed himself up off the floor, looking a little disoriented. Then he cast his gaze in Tony’s direction.

“Sorry, Tony,” he mumbled quietly. 

Tony sighed again, rolling his eyes. “It’s fine,” he muttered, not sounding terribly sincere. But it was better than nothing when Tony was in a mood like this. 

Phil was too focused on Bruce, a gentle hand on his back and already leaning in a speaking lowly, as he led him toward the stairs to see what Steve saw. As the two of them headed down the stairs, movement on the other set of stairs caught Steve’s eye. Clint was sitting on a step about halfway up, his eyes wide as he had assumedly witnessed what just occurred. 

For a moment, Steve had no idea how to react. By this point, through talking and getting to know each other, a new kid living with them would normally know what to expect from the other kids in the house. Phil only took in kids that were difficult to place in the system, that meant things didn’t always go smoothly. 

Of course, since Clint didn’t speak with anyone, he hadn’t been told any of this as far as Steve knew. 

In the awkward silence, Steve heard some shifting around behind him. He glanced over his shoulder in time to Tony leveraging himself up on his elbows to see what was going on. 

“Well, hey Barton,” Tony said with forced, sarcastic levity and a lazy wave. “Welcome to our chaos!”

Steve shot Tony a dry look before shifting his attention back to Clint. Of course, Clint didn’t give any indication that he had even heard him. His eyes were still on the lower staircase where Phil and Bruce had just disappeared. It took Steve a minute, but he was able to recognize the look on Clint’s face. He knew that look from experience in other homes. 

As Steve walked over to stand at the base of the stairs, Clint’s attention was drawn to him. 

“Bruce is okay,” Steve assured him with a small smile. “Phil really does just want to talk through what happened. Talking through things helps with Bruce’s condition.”

In other houses, an adult isolating one of the kids was rarely a good thing. Steve had been able to read the concern for Bruce’s safety in Clint’s features. And he could now see the skepticism in that same gaze. 

“Phil’s one of the good guys, I promise,” Steve went on. “He’s helped Bruce a lot, believe it or not. Bruce has a condition called Intermittent Explosive Disorder. It’s kinda like Bipolar. Phil’s helped him come a long way since he first got here, believe it or not. This was a pretty minor incident.”

“Speak for yourself, Golden Boy,” Tony spoke up. “I saw my life flash before my eyes.”

“Quit being dramatic,” Steve said, rolling his eyes as he turned and headed back to the living room. “You’ve taken harder falls on your own.”

“Then why’d you have to tell Phil?” Tony demanded. 

“Why didn’t _you_?” Steve shot back. 

“Guys,” Thor interrupted, shifting the attention to him. Then he nodded behind Steve. 

Steve turned to see what he was looking at. He blinked in surprise. He had honestly expected Clint to retreat again. After all, he hadn’t once voluntarily spent any time with them in the past week. But instead, Clint was now standing just a couple steps up from the bottom of the staircase, his intense gaze pinned on the three of them. 

“Nobody spook ‘em,” Tony said in a stage whisper that was clearly heard across the room. 

“Clint,” Thor said with a hopeful smile. “Do you want to join us?” 

To everyone’s amazement, Clint took a tentative step down, but then he stopped again, still two steps from the floor. Steve noticed the way that Clint gripped the railing, his knuckles stark white as if he needed to hang on for dear life. His eyes darted anxiously toward the stairs leading down to the first floor again before focusing back on them. 

“Relax, rookie, Bruce could totally take on Phil if it came down to it,” Tony pointed out. 

“That would never happen though,” Thor spoke up firmly. “St-Steve is right, Phil is one of the good guys. We have all been in bad homes and this is not one of them.” 

At that, Clint took another step down, watching them carefully as he moved. 

“Well, I think Thor is the official newbie whisperer,” Tony said as he arched his eyebrows. 

Before Tony was even finished speaking, Clint lowered himself down to sit on the stairs, his grip shifting to hold one of the spokes on the staircase. Steve shot Tony a look before he could comment further. In Steve’s opinion, this was progress, and he didn’t want Clint to be discouraged. 

Steve headed more fully into the living room, slumping down onto the smaller couch. Thor produced the remote for the TV and there was the usual bickering over what to watch, though without the typical gusto. Eventually the channel settled on a random sitcom that always seemed to be on. No one was watching too carefully, incidents like these tended to be draining for all of them, so they were mostly content to just lounge around on the couch. 

All three boys were pretty zoned out an hour and a half later when they finally heard footsteps coming up the stairs. 

From where he sat, Steve had a view of Phil and Bruce reappearing from the lower level. Phil, to his credit, took the sight of Clint sitting on the stairs in stride. He gave Clint a smile and a nod as he led Bruce back into the living room.

“Did we get pizza?” Thor asked eagerly even before Phil and Bruce — each bearing several boxes of pizza from a local place they ordered from — came into his view. 

“I figured with all the excitement today, we could all use an easy dinner,” Phil said with a smile. “Thor, Tony, would you guys grab some plates and drinks?” 

“Does anyone else remember my near-death experience today?” Tony asked dramatically. But at the sight of Bruce’s face falling, Tony quickly backtracked, pushing himself up off the couch with a deep sigh. “Fine, fine, I’m on it.” 

A few minutes later, Tony had brought a handful of plates back to the living room and Thor had brought over a bunch of bottles of Gatorade. They set up on the coffee table and without any further preamble they were all inspecting what was in each box and was grabbing slices. 

“Clint,” Phil called over to where Clint still sat, watching the scene intensely. “We’ve got pretty much every option imaginable. Let me know if you can’t find something you like.”

“We even have the ultimate abomination,” Tony interjected as he snapped shut the box he had just opened. “Heads up, Goldielocks.”

He flung the box like a frisbee toward Thor, who happily caught it with a grin. 

“You really should try it sometime,” Thor said as he cracked the lid and inhaled deeply. “Whoever decided to put pineapple on pizza was a genius.”

“You mean a lunatic,” Tony said as he loaded up his plate with a slice from each of the other boxes. 

“You better hurry up, Clint,” Phil urged with a laugh, turning back toward where Clint still sat. “These guys tend to demolish these pizzas pretty fast.”

Steve inspected a few of the different boxes, grabbing a few different slices. As he straightened, he jumped a little at the sudden presence next to him. Clint moved so silently, he hadn’t even realized he had come up beside him. Steve gave him a small smile as he grabbed another plate from the coffee table and handed it over to Clint so that he could pick out his pizza. 

Pizza nights were always casual in Phil’s house. Thor sat cross legged on the floor, Tony returned to the couch, balancing the plate on the arm and folding his legs up underneath him, Phil joined Tony on the couch and Steve and Bruce took the other small couch. Even though there was still an armchair open, Clint opted to crouch down on the floor, looking about a breath away from jumping up and taking off at a moment’s notice.

There was some strained conversation while they ate, but the most prominent noise was the TV still on in the background. Days like these always tended to take a lot out of everyone.

“Bruce,” Phil prompted as everyone was finishing up. “Do you feel up to talking about what happened?”

Bruce gave a heavy sigh. Then he looked over at Tony. “I’m really sorry, Tony,” he said quietly. “I know it was just an accident. I just… I couldn’t have that thought at the time. If that makes sense.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s alright, I get it,” Tony said, waving off the apology uncomfortably as he focused on his pizza. “No harm done.”

“But you coulda gotten really hurt,” Bruce insisted. “I never want to hurt anyone.”

“We know that, Bruce,” Steve interjected. “It was an accident.”

“I’m trying to control it better though,” Bruce went on. “I want to be better.”

“You were able to calm down much quicker than you used to,” Thor pointed out. “I think that means that you are getting better.”

“Thor is right,” Phil said. “Rome wasn’t built in a day. It’s going to take time, but what matters is that you are willing to work on it.”

“But Tony’s pacemaker…”

“Is holding up just fine,” Tony interrupted Bruce quickly. He cut a look at Clint, who was staring at him. After a moment he sighed and dropped his crust back on his plate, leaning back. “Turns out the whole hard drugs thing when you’re thirteen isn’t great for a still developing heart muscle. When I O.D.’ed my heart failed. The damage was so extensive that I had to have a pacemaker put in.” He tapped on his chest absently. “I’m supposed to stay away from things like contact sports, so I don’t knock anything loose.”

There was a strange, calculating look on Clint’s face for just a split second. Then he dropped his gaze down to his plate, focusing on his pizza while he ate. And it really said something to how worn out Tony was that he didn’t even attempt to comment on the awkward moment. 

The rest of the night was subdued. There was a small Redout tournament, a racing game the boys liked, played on the X-Box while they all rotated through the shower. 

After Steve was done in the shower, he was pretty content to call it a night. He was in his pajamas, his hair still wet as he walked into his room. At a glance, it didn’t seem like there was anything out of the ordinary. Clint was already sitting up on his bunk, which was typical. It took Steve a minute to really realize what was different. 

Clint was normally sitting back on the bed with his back against the wall. But instead, tonight he was sitting on the edge of the top bunk, his legs swinging lightly and his fingers gripping the edge of the mattress. As he looked down at Steve, there was something different in his gaze. Fear? Was he shifting uncomfortably or was he nervous about something?

“You okay, Clint?” Steve asked, not expecting much of a response. 

It was so quiet that Steve almost missed it when suddenly… Clint spoke. 

“I… need your help.”


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First thing's first... the number of reviews I'm getting on this are AMAZING! You have no idea how much the support means to me! Thank you so much to everyone for taking the time to leave such wonderful reviews! I very much appreciate it!
> 
> Second thing's second: I wanted to give you guys a heads up about my posting schedule. After this chapter, I only have one more chapter pre-written for this story. I had hoped to have made more progress at this point, but with the stress of a global pandemic hanging over us and my daily life rapidly shifting because of it, I haven't made nearly as much progress as I hoped I would. So just a heads up that there will definitely be a chapter posted next week, but after that my posting frequency might slow down a little bit. I hope not, but wanted to let you guys know what to expect!
> 
> Hope you all are staying safe out there!

**Chapter Four**

The next day was Saturday, a day where everyone tended to be left to their own devices. After breakfast everyone scattered to typical activities. Thor went out to meet up with some friends from school and Tony and Bruce – who’s grudges never lasted – took over the living room with one of their science projects. Steve sat on one of the stools at the counter trying to get a jump on his summer school homework he was behind on. He would be so relieved when he was finally caught up with all the school he missed while he had been sick for so many years and could actually have a normal summer. 

Clint had disappeared back upstairs after breakfast as he always did. However, Steve had really expected to see him come back down by now. It was approaching lunchtime and Steve would have thought Clint would have wanted to get this over with early. 

When he was about halfway through his math homework, Steve decided to take a break. He grabbed an apple and then headed upstairs to see what Clint was up to. But when he reached the bedroom, he strangely found it to be empty. Steve looked around curiously, even going so far as to step back and rise up on his tiptoes to see further up onto the top bunk. But it was empty. Confused, Steve turned and walked back out into the hallway, glancing down at the bathroom door to find that the door was open. 

Clint wasn’t here.

Steve walked back down the stairs and took a long look around the living room and kitchen, confirming that he didn’t see Clint anywhere around. 

“Have you guys seen Clint?” Steve asked, heading over to where Tony and Bruce had what appeared to be a dismantled computer tower on the coffee table in the living room. 

“Not since breakfast,” Tony said distractedly as he was fiddling with something inside the tower with a screwdriver. He glanced up at Steve. “I wouldn’t worry. We don’t usually see much of the kid in the daylight.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve admitted, though he didn’t feel comforted as he sent an uneasy glance back at the stairs. 

There was going to be real trouble if Clint had left the house without telling Phil. But if he had left the house, wouldn’t they have seen him come down the stairs? 

Not knowing what else to do, Steve went back over to his homework. It was almost lunch time and Phil would be coming up from his office. If Clint didn’t show up for lunch, then Steve would have to say something to Phil. But Steve found that he wasn’t able to really focus on his homework as he kept glancing over at the stairs. 

“Alright, guys, break time before you burn the place down,” Phil announced, glancing over at Bruce and Tony as he came back up to the second floor. 

“There is no fire involved here, Phil,” Tony said, rolling his eyes.

“Good to know,” Phil said. “Now why don’t you run upstairs and grab Clint. Bruce and Steve, can you grab plates and drinks while I work on sandwiches?”

Steve packed up his homework, knowing from experience how messy meals could get. Tony headed upstairs, taking the stairs two at a time and Steve found that he was distracted as he watched him go. 

“Steve?” Phil prompted when Steve didn’t move to help Bruce. “Everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so,” Steve mumbled as he pulled himself out of his daze and moved into the kitchen. 

Just a couple of minutes later, as Steve and Bruce finished setting the table, they heard Tony’s pounding footsteps coming back down the stairs, ending in a big _THUD_ as he launched himself from a few steps up and landed heavily back on the main floor. Steve whipped around, fully expecting to find Tony in a panic. But Tony looked completely calm as he made his way over to them. And even more surprising… just a few seconds later, Clint appeared at the bottom of the stairs. 

But… he hadn’t been up there just a little while ago. 

“Where did you find him?” Steve asked Tony in an undertone as he approached, glancing at Phil to make sure he was preoccupied with preparing sandwiches. 

Tony paused and gave him a funny look. “Sitting on the bunk bed, like he always is.”

“The bunk bed in _our_ room?” Steve asked.

“You really think I wouldn’t mention if he were in mine and Bruce’s room?” Tony said skeptically. “That room is a death trap to anyone other than us.” He paused, studying Steve’s face. “Dude, what are you freaking out about?”

“Nothing,” Steve murmured as he turned to the table. 

Well, maybe Clint had been in the bathroom. After all, Steve hadn’t really investigated that closely or searched all that hard. 

Lunch passed without major incident. Tony and Bruce were deeply immersed in a discussion that only they could understand. Steve was able to relax into a normal conversation with Phil about his summer school classes, putting the confusion over where Clint had been out of his head. It was likely just an honest mistake. 

“The syllabus for next year’s advanced European history class is killing me,” Phil said with a laugh as he was cleaning up his plate. “Do me a favor guys, next time I say that I’m going to start an advanced class’s syllabus over from scratch, please talk me out of it.”

As Phil was over by the sink, Steve caught Clint’s eye, sending him a silent question. Clint took a deep breath as he dropped the crust he was fiddling with back down to his plate and gave a small, resigned nod. He was ready to get this over with. 

Steve picked up his plate and headed over to the sink where Phil was finishing up. 

“Hey, Phil,” Steve said quietly, hoping to avoid drawing attention from Tony and Bruce. “Um, Clint wanted to… wondered if he… wondered if _we_ could all talk about something.” He hadn’t put much thought into his phrasing and he suddenly wished he had. 

Phil’s eyebrows went up in surprise. He glanced over his shoulder at where Clint still sat at the table, studying his mostly empty plate. 

“Yes, of course,” Phil said. “You guys want to come down to my office?”

“Yeah, that’d be good,” Steve said. 

“Okay, I’ll meet you guys down there,” Phil said with an encouraging smile. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Steve nodded. As Phil headed back toward the stairs, Steve went back over to the table. When he approached, Clint glanced up at him with a questioning look. 

“Phil’s ready when you are,” Steve told him with a smile, hoping to put him at ease. 

Clint didn’t seem comforted though. He dropped his gaze and picked up his plate, getting up and trudging over to the sink like a condemned man. 

Steve got it, he really did. He had been in homes before that were great until there was any kind of hurdle to cross. He had firsthand experience being cast out because things were suddenly too difficult. He had tried to explain to Clint last night that Phil wasn’t like that, but he honestly wasn’t sure how much Clint really absorbed. 

But Steve trusted that Phil would prove to Clint that not everyone was looking for a reason to give up on him.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Steve invited as Clint made his way back over to him, turning and leading him toward the stairs. 

“What’s going on?” Tony asked suddenly. He didn’t miss much. 

Steve shot a look at him over his shoulder. “I’ll tell you later.” Because this wasn’t something that would be kept under wraps once it came out, but Phil needed to know first. 

Something Steve had always loved about this house was all the large windows. On a sunny day like today, light flooded in those windows making the place feel even more open and welcoming. The same was true of Phil’s office area. A large bay window with a cushioned seat took up most of the wall on the front side of the house. When Steve was younger and afraid of being left alone, he would often curl up there to do his homework while Phil worked. 

Just in front of the bay window was a setup similar to the living room upstairs. There was a large couch pushed up against one wall and an overstuffed chair angled to one side of the couch. It allowed the person in the chair to face anyone on the couch without them feeling like they were on trial. It was a very comfortable setup, one that put the kids in Phil’s care at ease much more than if he were to sit them in front of his desk, which was set at the back of the large, open room, out of the way. 

As Steve and Clint came into the room, Steve could see Phil standing over the desk at the back of the room, shuffling around some papers. He looked up and smiled at them. 

“Go ahead and take a seat,” Phil invited warmly. “I just need a minute, I just need to organize this before I forget where everything goes.”

Steve turned to Clint and motioned toward the couch. Clint looked from the gesture to the couch and back, and then gave a small shake of his head with a frown. 

“Okay,” Steve said quietly with a nod. 

Steve moved over to the couch and was encouraged when Clint drifted along with him. Steve took a seat at the end of the couch closest to where the oversized chair was situated. Clint stopped at the other end of the couch, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“Sorry about that,” Phil said as he headed over and took his usual seat in the chair. He looked between Steve and Clint. “How are you guys doing sharing a room? Is everything going okay?” 

“Yeah,” Steve assured him with a nod and a glance at Clint. “Yeah, everything’s going fine, it’s nothing like that.” 

“Okay,” Phil said, looking a bit relieved. He glanced at Clint again, whose gaze was snapping anxiously between the two of them. “What did you boys want to talk about then?” 

Steve turned to look at Clint. The only thing Clint had really told him was that he needed Steve’s help telling Phil. It wasn’t clear just how much Steve was supposed to tell. 

“It’s okay,” Steve encouraged quietly. When Clint’s gaze settled on him, Steve went on slowly and carefully. “It’s okay. You can tell him. Phil will help you, I promise.”

Clint bit his bottom lip and shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. He opened his mouth, took an unsteady breath, and then snapped his mouth shut again, a look of panic over taking his features for a moment. It was such a difference from the blank look that Clint had worn for the past week. When he wanted to, Clint could be incredibly expressive, portraying so much more than simple words. 

It was mesmerizing to watch. 

Finally, Clint took in another deep breath, dropped his gaze to the floor and spoke, his voice soft but surprisingly steady. “I can’t hear.”

While Clint continued to study the carpet, Steve watched Phil for a reaction. For a moment, there was no reaction at all. Steve couldn’t blame him, he hadn’t known how to react either when Clint had finally told him last night. Steve had managed to get a few details out of Clint last night, but even after Clint started speaking, it was still hard to get information out of him. 

“He’s deaf,” Steve supplied quietly, even though Clint couldn’t hear him anyway and was still looking down at the floor. “He told me he can read lips reasonably well and can get the gist of what’s being said if he can see the person’s mouth. But he can’t hear anything.”

Phil gave Steve an appreciative nod and then focused back on Clint. When Clint still didn’t look up, Steve took the initiative to reach out toward him to try and get his attention. Before Steve’s hand reached his arm, Clint’s head snapped back up as he took a step away from the reach. Steve tilted his head toward Phil, encouraging Clint to focus on him so that they could communicate. 

As Clint’s wary gaze shifted to Phil, Phil gave him a comforting smile. 

“It’s okay, Clint,” Phil told him. “It’s fine, we can work with this.” He paused, but Clint didn’t have an obvious reaction. “Can you talk to me? We can talk about this and figure out what you need in order to make this work.” 

Clint stared at him, eyes wide. It was impossible to tell if he really comprehended what Phil had said. Phil sent a glance at Steve, but Steve didn’t know how he could communicate the sentiment any better. 

“Hang on,” Phil said, holding up a finger before he got up -- Clint taking a panicked step back at the sudden movement -- and headed back to his desk. 

“It’s okay,” Steve tried to assure Clint, even though he wasn’t looking at him. 

It pained him to see anyone react to Phil of all people with such fear. He put out a placating hand toward Clint, whose frightened gaze snapped to him. God, did he understand that fear. But he also knew that that kind of fear didn’t belong in this house. 

“It’s okay,” he repeated slowly, hoping that Clint would be able to understand him. “Phil is not going to hurt you. I promise, Clint.” 

Steve couldn’t tell if Clint was even remotely comforted by the statement, since just a second later Clint’s gaze was back on Phil as he returned from his office area with a pad of paper and a sharpie marker. Phil knelt at the coffee table and started writing. Steve leaned over so that he could read it. 

**It’s okay that you’re deaf. If you talk to me I can help you.**

Phil turned the pad toward Clint and slid it down to the end of the table. Clint sent an unsure look at Phil before taking a half step closer, leaning his upper body so that he could read the paper without getting any closer than he absolutely had to. He shot Phil a skeptical look, taking a moment to size him up and look for any indication that he wasn’t being sincere. 

Finally, Clint gave a small, timid nod. 

Phil smiled as he reached out and took the pad back and wrote again before sliding it back. **Have you ever been to a doctor who looked at your ears?**

Clint leaned forward to read the paper again. He considered the question for a moment before he finally shook his head. 

Phil nodded as if he weren’t surprised as he wrote his next question. **I would like to set up a doctor’s appointment for you. We can go to an ear doctor who can tell us if there’s anything we can do about your hearing loss. Would that be okay with you?**

Clint had to take a full step forward in order to read the longer message. He sent several nervous glances at Phil as he moved, who to his credit seemed to take extra care to be still while Clint moved. Clint leaned over to read. Steve figured he had to have read it several times before he finally looked up. That skeptical look was back, as if he were trying to figure out what Phil’s true intentions were. 

Finally, at long last, Clint bobbed his head in agreement. 

Phil smiled as he slowly moved his hand back to the pad to pull it closer so that he could write again. **Okay, I’ll work on that this afternoon. In the meantime, is writing things down like this the best way to communicate with you?**

Clint got an introspective look on his face as he carefully considered this. Then he opened his mouth and slowly spoke. “I can mos’ly read lips.”

Steve had noticed with the very few times Clint had spoken out loud so far, he paused to think for a long time before speaking. It reminded Steve of Thor before he had gotten a decent handle on his speech apraxia. Clint seemed to concentrate a lot on his enunciation, which generally came across impressively well considering he couldn’t hear himself, but there were a few times when Steve had noticed missing syllables in certain words. 

Phil wrote another note and slid it down the table. **Okay, that’s good to know. But is it easier for you for me to write things down for you like this?**

Clint blinked blankly at that question. When he looked back up at Phil, his expression had shifted. Clint was no longer looking at him with suspicion. For just a split second, Steve could have sworn that Clint looked mystified before he carefully blanked his expression again. 

It was the look of a kid who had never once been asked what would be easiest for _him_. A kid who’s wants and needs had never been held in any kind of regard. 

Finally, Clint gave a small, timid nod. 

Phil gave Clint a warm smile as he started writing again. **Okay, we can work with that, that’s not a problem.**

Clint swallowed thickly and then nodded again. Phil paused to write again.

**I’ll call and get you a doctor’s appointment as soon as I can. Is there anything else you need in the meantime?**

Clint gave a small shake of his head. 

**Okay, please let me know if that changes. I’m here to help you with whatever you need.**

After Clint read that message, he simply shifted his gaze to Phil and took a small step back. Then his eyes darted to the stairs as he shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortably. Finally, he pointed toward the stairs, sending a questioning look at Phil. Phil barely started to nod, and Clint was hurrying up the stairs and out of sight. 

Both Phil and Steve were quiet as they watched him go. Once he had disappeared, Steve shifted a little awkwardly in his seat. He felt like he should leave, after all this had all been for Clint, and now that Clint had left Steve had no business left here. But for some reason, he found himself remaining in his seat. 

“Thank you for helping him, Steve,” Phil finally said with a slightly strained smile. “I appreciate you helping him get to this point.”

“He was really scared, Phil,” Steve admitted quietly. “He really didn’t want to tell you.”

Phil sighed heavily. “Unfortunately, that’s not all that unusual with the kids I take in.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. He paused and then decided to go on. “But… this is different, isn’t it?” 

Phil looked up and met his eyes with a sad smile. “Kid… you are too young to be this perceptive.” 

Steve laughed softly as he shrugged. “Too much life experience I guess.”

“Okay, well, do me a favor and add some good old-fashioned teenage rebellion into your schedule at some point,” Phil laughed. 

Steve smiled as he pushed himself up to his feet. “I’ll see what I can do.” Then he went on sincerely. “Thanks, Phil. It’s really nice to be able to come to you with this stuff.”

Steve had been in and out of six homes over the course of two years before he had been placed with Phil. A few of those homes were decent homes, the parents had just been overwhelmed with Steve’s special medical needs. But it was more common to be moved out of a bad home. He was pulled out of his last home as the foster father had been in the process of being handcuffed and charged with abuse. 

Phil’s home was completely different from any other home that he had experienced while in the system. Phil truly cared about them. He wanted to be more than just a place to crash, he wanted this place to be a home to every kid who walked through that front door. And more than that, he genuinely wanted to help them. He listened not because he had to, but because he wanted to. He wasn’t interested in short term fixes to their problems just to get them through their time with him, he wanted to make long term changes in their lives. 

Steve felt incredibly lucky to be able to live here and call Phil his guardian. 

Phil gave him a warm smile. “You know you don’t have to thank me for this kind of stuff, kid. This is what I’m here for.”

Steve smiled and nodded before he turned and headed up the stairs. 

When he got back up to the second floor, he wasn’t surprised by what he found. Clint was nowhere to be seen and Steve assumed he had gone right back up to their bedroom. Steve’s feet had barely hit the second floor when Tony was running over to him, though Steve was a little surprised to find Bruce trailing behind him. 

“Alright, spill it,” Tony demanded. “Clint just ran upstairs like there was a demon chasing him. What the hell is going on?”

Steve sighed wearily. He knew that now was as good a time as any, since he knew that Clint sure as hell wasn’t going to want to tell the rest of them. 

“Clint talked to me last night,” Steve said. 

“You’re shitting me,” Tony said with wide eyes. “Well I hope it was something damn profound after spending a week as a silent monk.”

Steve figured there was no reason to beat around the bush at this point. “He’s deaf.”

There was a long silence following the revelation. 

“Wait… what?” Tony finally sputtered. 

“He can’t hear.”

“I know what deaf means,” Tony practically snapped. “But that doesn’t make any sense. You said he’d respond to some questions by nodding or shaking his head.”

“Apparently he’s got some pretty decent lip-reading skills,” Steve said, shrugging one shoulder. 

“So… he can’t hear anything at all?” Bruce asked curiously. 

“I don’t really know all the specifics,” Steve admitted. “I could only get the bare minimum out of him last night and he wasn’t particularly forthcoming with Phil just now either. Basically, you know what I know at this point.”

“But he _can_ talk, right?” Tony said, still obviously struggling to get his mind around the turn of events. 

“Yeah, pretty well actually, all things considered,” Steve confirmed. 

“Then, why doesn’t he talk?” Tony said. “I still don’t get it.”

“I don’t know,” Steve sighed, starting to get frustrated by Tony’s obsessive questioning. “It’s almost like he’s afraid to talk.”

“But why--”

“Like I said, right now we only know the bare minimum,” Steve cut him off. “You basically know what I know at this point. Now, I’m gonna go check in on him.” 

Admittedly, it was mostly an excuse to get out of the conversation, but he also wanted to make sure Clint was holding up okay considering how terrified he had seemed to share this part of his life. Steve turned and headed up the stairs.

This time, Steve couldn’t say he was surprised when he entered their room and found that it was empty again. He did do a more deliberate search of the room this go around though. He crouched down to look under the bunk bed, he stepped on the bottom rung of the ladder in order to better assess the top bunk, he even checked the spaces between the furniture and the walls. 

Once again, Clint had disappeared without a trace. 

Steve headed back out of the room and in order to assure himself that he wasn’t overreacting, he confirmed that the bathroom up here was empty. He even went so far as to check Tony and Bruce’s room and then went upstairs to check Thor’s room. There was really no sign of Clint anywhere. 

Knowing that Clint had shown back up again last time he disappeared, Steve was able to keep more calm about the situation. He went back to their room and grabbed some of his summer school homework. Then he settled himself on the lower bunk, pushing himself all the way back to lean up against the wall. Using a binder as a table, he got to work. He could glance up between problems and have a pretty good view down the hallway. Knowing that Clint had somehow materialized back in their room last time, Steve figured this was as good a spot as any to wait and hopefully get an idea where he disappeared to. 

He almost missed it completely. It was late into the afternoon and Steve was completely engrossed in his math homework. Math had never been his strongest subject. 

He was absently chewing on the eraser of his pencil as he stared dismally at a particularly tricky problem when he was vaguely aware of movement in the room. It was really by instinct alone that had him glancing toward the window before focusing back on the math book sitting open next to him. A long beat later, his brain finally comprehended what his eyes had taken in, and he slowly turned his head back toward the window, because surely that wasn’t what he had actually seen. The screen from the window was now sitting on the floor -- Steve hadn’t even heard it move -- and Clint was carefully climbing into the room from outside. 

From outside into the _third story_ window. 

“What the…” Steve mumbled, leaning forward to get a better look. 

Clint hadn’t noticed him yet. He dropped silently to the floor and then quickly scooped up the screen and carefully fitted it back into the window with such ease that it was clear he had done this several times before. He turned and took a couple steps into the room… and froze as his gaze finally fell on the lower bunk where Steve sat watching him with wide eyes. 

For a long minute, the two just stared at each other. Steve looked at Clint in shock while Clint looked at Steve in fear. 

Clint swallowed thickly. “You g’nna… you g’nna tell on me?” His voice was soft and timid. 

Steve blinked. Then he pushed himself to the edge of the bed, ducking out from under the bunk bed. Clint scrambled backward, but Steve hardly noticed as he headed for the window, looking out curiously. 

“How?” was all Steve could think of to say. 

In the silence that followed the question, Steve slowly remembered that Clint had no idea what he was saying. He turned back toward Clint and found that the younger boy was pressed back against the wall and the poor kid was practically shaking in fear. 

Steve put out a placating hand. “Hey, no, it’s okay. I’m not mad, I’m just… confused. Con-fu-sed.” He repeated what he felt to be the most important point slowly, over-enunciating and pointing to himself. He still wasn’t quite sure what the best way to communicate with Clint really was. 

“I-I jus’...” Clint started and then paused. He took a deep breath and stood up a little straighter, speaking more carefully. “I jus’ nee’ed some air.” 

“Okay,” Steve said and then sent an uneasy look over his shoulder at the third story window. He was careful to turn back to Clint before speaking again. “There’s just… easier and less dangerous ways to get some fresh air. You know, like the front door.” 

Clint just frowned as he shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged his shoulders. 

“I’m not gonna tell on you,” Steve assured him, encouraged when he saw the subtle relief in Clint’s features. He had to be mostly getting through anyway. “But please don’t do that again. That’s really dangerous. I don’t want you to get hurt. Okay?” 

Clint bit his lip and shifted uncomfortably. He was obviously reluctant to make such a promise but also didn’t want to outright refuse. 

Steve sighed. “Okay, how about you and me go for a walk and I can show you around the neighborhood. And, you know, how to use the front door.” He gave Clint a smile and was surprised when he actually got a small smile in return. “Come on, we’ve got some time before dinner.”

As Steve led the way back downstairs with Clint in tow, he finally felt hopeful. This was going to work; they were going to figure out how to reach Clint. This was going to work.

It had to.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off thank you to EVERYONE who has taken the time to comment on this story! Thank you so much for all the support, it's seriously amazing and means so very much to me!
> 
> Okay some good news and bad news. The bad news is that this chapter is shorter than my others. I ended up cutting the last scene I originally had in this chapter, partly to make my proofreading job easier with my current sleep deprivation and partly because it really went better with what I wanted to do with the next chapter. The good news is with the content I now have for the next chapter it's looking very good for me having another chapter to post next weekend! So keep an eye out for it!
> 
> Hope you all are staying safe and healthy!

**Chapter Five**

“Thanks for coming on such short notice,” Phil said as he ushered Maria Hill through the foyer and into his office area. 

“Are you kidding, I cleared my morning for this,” Maria said. “I was honestly starting to think we weren’t going to solve that mystery. That’s a huge breakthrough you had with Clint yesterday.” 

“It wasn’t me,” Phil said honestly. “It was Steve. I swear, the kid’s getting better at this kind of stuff than I am these days.”

“Still, Clint told Steve because he _wanted_ to tell you, but probably felt more comfortable with the help of a peer,” Maria pointed out as she took a seat at one of the chairs across from Phil’s desk. Phil took the other chair on the same side of the desk so that they could face each other without the desk between them. “That’s significant.” 

“Yeah, I know you’re right,” Phil admitted.

“How have things been since this came out?” Maria asked. 

“Fairly uneventful so far,” Phil said. “There was some tension at dinner last night. You know how…” he paused as he contemplated the best word to use, “ _forthright_ Tony can be.”

Maria chuckled. “That’s very generously putting it lightly.” 

“But before dinner Steve took Clint out into the neighborhood to show him around. So, I think at the very least those two are bonding. That’s something anyway.”

“And yet… you don’t sound happy about that,” Maria observed, raising a curious eyebrow. 

“I am glad that Clint is managing to bond with one of the boys despite all this,” Phil clarified quickly. He paused to take another steadying breath and then let out a humorless chuckle. “I just… I haven’t felt this overwhelmed and out of my depth since I took in my first kid ten years ago.” 

“That’s understandable,” Maria acknowledged. “This is a new one. Hell, it’s a new one for me too. Usually, when we get a kid with special needs, we know it from the start and can plan to make proper accommodations. Having it sprung on us like this after already placing a kid is practically unheard of.” She paused as if unsure if she should go on. After a moment, she spoke carefully. “You know, we might have homes that have more experience with this kind of thing. It’s something we didn’t get a chance to look into before trying to place him since we didn’t know exactly what we were dealing with.” She didn’t outright say it, but the implication of the statement was painfully clear as it hung heavily in the air between them. 

For the first time since he became a foster parent, for just a split second, Phil was tempted to take her up on her thinly veiled offer to move one of his kids to a different home. The thought only lasted a moment though and was gone as quickly as it had come. He had never once had a kid transferred out of his care. He wasn’t about to change that now because of one unexpected turn of events. 

“I know,” Phil finally said with a small, appreciative smile. “But, you don’t need to do that. We’ll figure this out.”

“I know you will,” Maria said with a knowing smile. She leaned down and pulled Clint’s file from her bag and then placed the file on the desk in front of her and flipped it open, poised to take notes. “So, let’s take this one step at a time. Now, what do you see as the next step?”

“I got a recommendation from the kids’ doctor for an excellent audiologist in the city,'' Phil said. “I managed to get Clint an appointment for Wednesday. Hopefully, the audiologist will not only be able to help Clint, but also help me with how to best handle the situation.”

“I’m sure he or she will,” Maria said, nodding as she made a note in Clint’s file. “And that’s really good that you were able to get him in so soon. Specialists like that can often be booked up for weeks, especially when it comes to new patients.” 

“Yeah, it only took several phone calls and some mild begging,” Phil said with a laugh. “And even so, Wednesday still seems so far away.” 

“I’m sure,” Maria said. “So, what’s the plan for getting him through the next three days?” 

“I managed to dig up a small whiteboard and some dry erase markers from some old school supplies and put it upstairs,” Phil said. “I’m encouraging the other boys to write messages to Clint in an attempt to start up a conversation with him.”

“And how’s that going?”

“The other boys have taken to it pretty enthusiastically actually. I think Tony and Thor especially see it as a game to see if they can get him to talk, but even Bruce gave it a try without much prodding. But so far Clint only seems inclined to communicate with Steve. And Steve told me that even that is very minimal.” Phil frowned. “I’m just afraid of not getting through to this kid.”

“And how many of your kids have you said that about over the years,” Maria said with a knowing look and a smirk. Phil laughed as he nodded in acquiescence. “You are always asking for our challenging cases, Phil. Well, it seems that I couldn’t have picked a better case for your next big challenge.”

Phil couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at his lips. “Okay, point taken.”

“You got this, Phil,” Maria assured him. “Now, do you want me to try to talk to Clint before I go?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Phil said apologetically. “Putting him in a situation where he feels like he _has_ to talk seems to cause him to close off even more.”

Maria nodded. “That’s understandable. Is there anything that you need from me in order to make this easier?”

“Just talking it out like this has helped immensely,” Phil assured her. 

“I’m glad,” Maria said with a smile as she closed Clint’s file. “If you think of anything, please don’t hesitate to call me. How about we set up a meeting between you, me, and Clint later this week, after he sees the audiologist so that we can all get on the same page with our game plan going forward.”

“Yes, that sounds like a good idea,” Phil agreed. 

“Give me a call after the appointment and we can set that up,” Maria said as she stood up, Phil following suit. 

“Thanks again for taking the time to come over here,” Phil said as he escorted Maria back through his office to the front of the house. “I know how shorthanded you are in your department.”

“We all have our crosses to bare,” Maria said with a small smile that seemed a bit strained at the corners. “Mine is to run around and make sure all these kids are well taken care of. Yours is to actually take care of these kids. We can debate another day over which is more challenging.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Phil said with a humorless laugh as he opened the door for her. “Be safe out there.”

“Always,” Maria replied as she swept by him and headed down the stairs. 

Phil stayed in the doorway, confirming that Maria made it to her car and pulled out safely into traffic before he closed the door. 

“Why w- why was Miss Hill here?” 

Phil turned to find Thor standing halfway down the stairs, looking down at him warily. 

Phil gave him a comforting smile as he climbed the stairs up to where Thor stood. “I was just updating her on recent events.”

“Clint is going to stay, righ-ight?” Thor asked, a little bit unsteadily. 

“Yes, of course Clint is going to stay,” Phil assured him. “You know that Miss Hill just likes to keep up with current events when it comes to you guys.”

Thor nodded, looking a little relieved. Then he sent a glance over his shoulder. “I was coming to tell you, you might want to come upstairs. Tony is pitching a fit.”

“Of course he is,” Phil said with a sigh as he followed Thor back up the stairs. It just wouldn’t feel like his house if they ever had a quiet morning. 

“Good, Phil’s here, he’s gonna side with me!”

“That’s a bold assumption, Tony,” Phil said lightly as he came back up onto the second floor and surveyed the scene of Steve, Tony and Bruce gathered in the kitchen. It was a familiar one, as breakfast tended to be strangely controversial with this group. “What’s the problem this time?” 

“Phil, whose turn is it to make breakfast?” Tony demanded while Steve rolled his eyes behind him. 

“What’s the chart say?” Phil countered, nodding toward the refrigerator where they kept the chore chart.

“Well, that’s the thing,” Tony drawled, flinging out a hand. “Strangely, it seems that it hasn’t been updated.”

“And you know damn well why,” Steve snapped. 

“And I’m pretty sure that qualifies as preferential treatment, something I was under the impression was frowned on in this house!”

“Alright, calm down, both of you,” Phil said. “Tony, take a breath and tell me what’s bothering you.” 

“According to the chart, it's my turn to make breakfast. But, I can't help but notice that after the new kid’s usual one week grace period, the chart has not been updated to include him. Traditionally, it should be _his_ turn to make breakfast. But Mr. Golden Boy here is inclined to let him sleep in and avoid responsibility. Surely the chart is incorrect, since I have been told _many time_ s that allowing others to avoid responsibility is doing them a disservice. Right?” 

Phil sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead. It was true, when a new kid was introduced into his house, it was typical that he was allowed a week to settle in before being added to the chore chart. And it was also true that Phil hadn’t been as conscientious as he usually was about integrating Clint into the usual routine. With all the initial struggles that surrounded figuring out how to simply communicate with Clint, Phil had thought it would be appropriate to delay putting Clint on the chore schedule for a little longer.

He should have known better than to think the rest of the boys wouldn’t take notice. 

“Tony, this is a special circumstance,” Phil tried to placate. “We’re going to give Clint a little more of a grace period than we usually do.”

“How is that fair?” Tony demanded. 

“Because fair looks different to each person,” Phil pointed out. “We can make allowances from time to time.”

“Sounds like coddling to me,” Tony grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“And it sounds like you’re just too lazy to make breakfast to me,” Steve said with a glare. 

“Um,” Bruce hummed, drawing everyone’s attention. He shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny and then glanced over to one side. Phil turned, following his gaze. 

Clint was standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking over at the group apprehensively. 

“Oh good,” Tony said as he strode over to the kitchen table and snatched the white board.

“Tony, don’t,” Steve snapped. 

“Kid deserves to know what’s going on, don’t you think?” Tony said, storming across the room as he scribbled on the board with the dry erase marker. “Don’t want to leave anyone out.”

As Tony headed for him, Clint frantically backpedaled until his back hit the wall, a panicked look on his face that Tony was completely oblivious to as his eyes were still down on the white board as he moved. 

“Tony,” Phil snapped, so loudly that Tony skidded to a stop. Phil continued in a more composed tone. “Take it easy, okay?” 

Tony rolled his eyes, but was much more controlled as he approached Clint and held out the board at arm’s length. Clint eyed him unsurely for a moment before he carefully reached out and gingerly took the white board. It took him a minute to read Tony’s handwriting -- which wasn’t terribly legible on a good day -- and then he looked up. 

“I… c’n make eggs,” Clint said quietly, his eyes darting uncertainly to each person in the room. “S’ram’led.” He paused as he concentrated for a moment before speaking again, deliberately hitting the ‘b’ sound in the word this time. “Scrambled.”

“Damnit,” Tony groaned, throwing his head back dramatically as he spun around. “Guess it was too much to hope that he knew how to make something decent enough for human consumption?” 

“Nothing’s ever good enough for you, is it?” Steve grumbled. 

“Okay, everyone calm down,” Phil said calmly as he stepped forward. “Tony, retreat. Let me handle this.”

Tony gave an overly dramatic sigh as he trudged away from Clint. Phil waited a beat before he approached Clint, knowing that it was best not to crowd the kid. He held out a hand and Clint handed over the white board and marker. Phil erased Tony’s message with the side of his fist and then carefully wrote out his own message. He handed the board over to Clint so that he could take his time reading the words. 

**We usually take turns making breakfast for everyone. Would you like to take a turn today or would you rather wait until you’re more settled?**

Clint bit his bottom lip after he read the message. He took a moment, concentrating carefully before he spoke. “I can make breakfast.”

Phil gave him an appreciative smile and then took the white board to write another message, reiterating it out loud as he held it out for Clint to read. “I’m sure Steve wouldn’t mind helping you out since it’s your first time. Maybe he can help make something to go with the scrambled eggs.” 

“Yeah, I can help out,” Steve said with a smile. 

“Of course Mr. Golden Boy can help out,” Tony mumbled, ducking away as Steve took an annoyed, half-hearted swipe at him as he passed by. 

Steve motioned Clint over and Clint made his way over to the kitchen, keeping a careful eye on everyone as he moved. 

“Bruce, why don’t you and Thor set the table,” Phil suggested as he followed Tony over into the living room. 

“Oh great, let me guess what that means,” Tony moaned as he threw himself down on the couch. 

“Is something bothering you this morning, Tony?” Phil asked as he took a seat in the recliner next to the couch. 

“You mean beyond the usual spoiled rich kid getting orphaned and bussed down to working class angst?” Tony drawled absently. 

Phil had to work to not roll his eyes. Tony certainly thrived on being over dramatic and though Phil was pretty used to it by now, it still tried at his patience from time to time. 

“Do you want to go downstairs and talk about it?” Phil asked. 

Tony huffed a heavy sigh as he waved a dismissive hand. “No, no need to have a whole formal meeting over it.” He shifted his gaze to look over at Phil. “It just irks me when… you know, we’re already overcrowded here and then you bring in yet another kid and then suddenly start giving him more slack than you ever gave us when we first came here. Bruce and I, we were thrown right into the fray after our first week here despite our issues. I’m willing to bet Thor and even Steve were too when they first came here.” There was a note of accusation in Tony’s tone along with a slight glare in his gaze. 

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Phil said sincerely. “Honestly… this whole thing has been a little out of my depth. I’ve been overwhelmed as well.”

Tony looked a little surprised by the admission. “Then why did you do it?”

On the surface, it seemed like a terribly selfish question, but Phil could see it for what it really was. Tony had grown up in a home where nothing was done without obvious personal gain. It was a concept that he had a hard time grasping and the question was posed out of honest curiosity. 

“It’s the same reason I’ve taken in every kid that I’ve looked after for the past ten years,” Phil said. “Because he needed help and I was in a position to give it.” 

Tony rolled his eyes. “You can’t save every kicked puppy in the system, Phil. It’s just not humanly possible.”

“True,” Phil allowed. “But if I had done nothing, Clint would likely be in juvie right now, isolated and not getting any of the help that he needs. I would think you of all people would sympathise.” Tony huffed non committedly. “I will admit when I’m wrong though.” Tony snapped his gaze over to Phil in surprise. “I was wrong to not follow our usual pattern of integrating new kids into the house routine after one week. I shouldn’t have been giving Clint that much leniency and you were right to call me on it.” 

Tony opened his mouth to comment, but Phil continued before he could. “That being said, I need you to be more understanding. Because until we work out the communication issues with Clint, things may not go exactly the way they’ve always gone. So, for now, please bring your concerns directly to me, because I don’t want to overwhelm Clint until we know more about what he’s been through. You charging him with the white board is not going to help matters right now. Okay?”

“Fine,” Tony sighed. 

“Thank you,” Phil said with an appreciative smile as he stood up. 

“Sorry, Phil,” Tony mumbled, dropping his gaze down. 

“It’s okay, Tony,” Phil assured him gently, placing a comforting hand on the kid’s shoulder. “We’re all adjusting here. We’re all allowed to make mistakes.”

Tony Stark wore an arrogant, spoiled persona like a coat of armor. He subconsciously used a large, off putting personality in order to keep people at arm’s length. Phil knew that so much more lay just under the surface of this troubled kid, a layer of himself that Tony kept fiercely protected. It was often easy for people to overlook the fact that despite his seemingly privileged childhood, Tony was not without his scars. Just like the other kids who found their way to Phil’s care, Tony had been through a lot in his short life. 

Phil left Tony to his own devices for the time being and headed back over to the kitchen to make sure everything was running as smoothly as it could with a house full of rowdy boys. 

By the time that breakfast finally hit the table -- which in addition to a generous plate of scrambled eggs also included bacon and a large pile of toast -- everyone’s stomachs were rumbling. Phil couldn’t help but notice that the plate of bacon looked suspiciously smaller between Thor picking it up off the counter and placing it down on the table. The first few minutes were consumed with the usual grabbing and arguing over plates, but as everyone dug into the meal the ruckus finally calmed and for a rare moment in time things almost appeared calm in the house. 

“Where’d the white board go?” Tony asked suddenly, his eyes whipping around the table. 

Phil raised an eyebrow at Tony before he glanced around. “Looks like it got left over there.” He nodded toward the counter where Clint must have placed it. 

Tony stood and went over to retrieve the board. Phil glanced over at Clint, but his head was bowed over his meal as he ate and he didn’t seem to notice that Tony had left the table. But Tony certainly had the rapt attention of everyone else at the table as he returned to his seat and began to scribble on the white board. Bruce tilted his head in order to read over his shoulder, and Phil felt himself relax -- and simultaneously realized that he had involuntarily tensed when Tony had asked for the white board -- when he saw a small smile pull at Bruce’s lips. 

“Hey, Clint,” Steve said softly as he reached over and tapped on the table next to Clint’s plate, drawing Clint’s gaze up. Steve nodded over at Tony and Clint followed the gesture.

Tony silently held out the white board. After a beat of hesitation, Clint reached out and carefully took the board. Everyone was completely still and Phil honestly couldn’t remember a time that the house had been so quiet. 

And then… Clint gave a small smile, looking over at Tony. “Thanks.” His voice was barely more than a hoarse whisper, but in the quiet it seemed to echo around the room. 

Tony returned the smile. “I mean it.”

Finally, unable to take the suspense any longer, Steve leaned over to get a look at the board. Clint handed it over for Steve to see better, and Steve smiled at the message before passing it along to Phil so that he could read it as well. 

**I’m sorry for earlier. These are some of the best eggs I’ve ever had. You did a really great job.**

Phil sent Tony a grateful smile. “Thank you,” he told the teenager softly. 

Tony just shrugged a shoulder like it wasn’t the big deal that it really was. With that gesture, the spell at the table broke and everyone went back to their breakfasts. But it was hugely encouraging to Phil to have gotten over this hurdle. This was going to work. 

And this time, he actually believed that.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm still here! So sorry that this chapter is coming a few weeks late. With all the craziness going on in the world right now, it's been harder to concentrate than usual. I appreciate your guys' patience and support and I promise I'll keep working on this story and getting chapters out as quickly as I am able! Huge thank yous go out to anyone who has taken the time to leave a review on this story! It is so very appreciated, especially these days! You guys are the best!
> 
> **DISCLAIMER:** (I would have made this statement earlier, but I didn't want to spoil anything) I am a hearing person writing a deaf character. Although I have done a TON of research into ASL and Deaf culture and hope to do Clint's character as much justice as I am able to, ultimately please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction and not intended to be taken as any kind of authority on any kind of subject matter within this story.

**Chapter Six**

Doctor’s appointments were rarely simple and placid affairs for the kids in Phil’s care. So many had been so abused or neglected that invasive doctor’s appointments tended to be stressful, and for others it was simply a foreign and strange activity that they hadn’t been subjected to before being placed in foster care. Even Steve, admittedly one of Phil’s more well-adjusted cases by this point, suffered from medical anxiety after all he had been through with both his and his mothers’ illnesses. 

Phil had expected no different from Clint and was prepared for everything from anger to confusion to relief when he told Clint about the appointment. He still was not used to Clint’s unreadable demeanor. Phil honestly wasn’t sure whether the kid was just that apathetic about what was going on around him or if he generally didn’t really comprehend what was happening and was just prone to go along with things. 

Despite finally getting some answers, Phil found that now he only had more. The main one that Phil was wondering about more and more was about Clint’s reading ability. At the moment, their main avenue for communicating with Clint was to write things down, but Phil had no idea what Clint’s reading ability was actually like at his age, especially given that he had an extremely spotty record of formal schooling. Was he really able to read every word that was written on that white board? When Phil prompted him for a response by writing down **do you understand?** and Clint nodded his head despite the distant, almost detached look in his eyes… did he really understand, or was he just doing what he thought was expected of him? 

And as they finally headed for their appointment with the audiologist, Phil wasn’t really sure if he were really going to get any more answers that day or if this kind of appointment would be more of a simple check up to see what needed to be done. He had never been to an audiologist before or needed to take any of his kids to one, so he honestly just didn’t know what to expect at this point. It had been a very long time since he had felt this way. 

The trip to the doctor’s office was almost uneventful. Clint appeared familiar with the process of riding the subway, silently taking his ticket when Phil offered to him and without any instruction scanned himself passed the security gates. Clint kept his hands shoved deep in his pockets as they moved through the station, his eyes constantly darting around as he seemed to try and take in everything and anything around him. On the train, Phil led them up to the front of the car where there was a cluster of empty seats. Clint sat stone still through the whole trip, though Phil didn’t fail to notice that his gaze remained trained on the doors in the middle of the train that would let people on and off the entire time. 

When they reached the closest stop to the doctor’s office, Phil led the way off the train. Even though it was past rush hour and the bulk of the commuters were long gone, the station was still fairly full. Phil put a hand out, beckoning Clint closer and willing him not to lag behind as they moved through the crowd. He hovered a hand behind Clint’s back in order to keep track of him as they headed for the exit. 

When it happened, Phil initially just assumed that Clint had tripped. One moment they were walking side by side and in the next Clint was stumbling into Phil, his shoulder jamming into Phil’s side as Clint threw out his hands in an attempt to steady himself. On instinct, Phil grabbed Clint’s arm in order to steady him.

“Are you okay?” Phil asked quickly before not only did he remember Clint couldn’t hear him, but also realized Clint wasn’t even looking at him. 

Everything about the kid came to Phil slowly. First, he saw the way that Clint’s head whipped around, almost like he was searching desperately for something. Next, it was the panic that shined brightly in Clint’s eyes -- so drastically different from his normal apathetic gaze -- like he had seen something terrible. And finally, it was the way that Clint gasped desperately for breath, as if he had just surfaced from underwater. 

More confused than anything, Phil gently led Clint off to the side of the station so they wouldn’t be in the way of people heading to and from the trains. When they reached a relatively secluded area next to the wall, Phil reached into his pocket and pulled out the small notebook he had brought with him. 

**Are you okay?** Phil scribbled on the pad quickly. 

He had to reach out and place a careful hand on Clint’s arm in order to draw the kid’s attention to the message. Clint’s gaze snapped to the notebook, paused as he read, and then did another visual sweep of their surroundings. It was almost as if he were searching for something… 

“Clint,” Phil spoke out loud out of habit, tapping Clint’s arm in order to draw his attention back and pointing to the message. 

Clint looked at the notebook again and then swallowed thickly before he gave a small nod. Phil studied him carefully. The kid’s breathing was calming down, but his eyes still darted around anxiously. Phil looked around himself, looking for anything that appeared threatening or out of the ordinary. But he couldn’t see anything unusual. 

Phil flipped the page of the notebook so he could write a new message. **Let’s go, we don’t want to be late. Please stay close.** He gave Clint time to read the message and waited for the kid to nod before he began to lead the way back out of the subway, keeping a closer eye on Clint as they moved. 

Despite the breakthrough they had a few days ago, Phil still felt like he was flying blind with this kid. They still had no idea what Clint had been through, what kind of traumas he’s endured in his short life. Could something in his past explain his behavior? After all, there was still a four year gap where they had no idea where this kid even had been. 

Figuring out the best way to communicate with Clint was only going to be the first hurdle they were going to have to overcome. 

Thankfully, the doctor’s office was only a short few blocks from the subway station. Back above ground, Phil could see Clint’s muscles relaxing and his breathing slowing back to normal. Whatever kind of episode he had back down in the station, it seemed that it had passed. For now, anyway. 

As was the norm, despite getting to the doctor’s office the recommended fifteen minutes early, the office was running behind. Phil and Clint sat quietly, side by side in the waiting room for twenty minutes and Phil couldn’t help but notice the way that Clint glanced around at the various adults and kids that passed through the room, his eyes lingering on the ones that had visible hearing aids or cochlear implants. Phil wished he knew that Clint was thinking. 

They finally were called back into the exam room. There were two normal chairs pushed up against one wall, a wheeled stool next to the doctor’s station and an upright exam chair in the middle of the room. 

Phil took one of the normal chairs, but Clint eyed the chair next to him distastefully. Instead of sitting, Clint wandered around the room, looking curiously at the various equipment. Phil left Clint to his own devices, honestly relieved that Clint was showing any interest at all in what was going on. It was a vast improvement from Clint sitting completely still with a blank, apathetic look on his face. 

After a few minutes, Clint settled himself leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the room from where Phil sat. Phil shifted uncomfortably in the silence. He always prided himself with being able to talk to these kids and the silence in the room was grating. 

“Good morning.” Clint visibly jumped as the door finally swung open fifteen minutes later and a female doctor with dark hair swept up into a bun walked into the room. “Thank you for your patience, we’re running a little behind this morning.” She closed the door and then turned, looking from Phil on one side of the room to Clint on the other, giving each a warm smile. “My name is Dr. Helen Cho.”

“Phil Coulson,” Phil greeted as he stood and shook her hand. “This is Clint Barton.” He motioned to where Clint stood. Unsurprisingly, Clint made no attempt to approach the doctor, but he did pin her with a hard, almost calculating stare that seemed out of place on such a small child. 

“Hi, Clint,” Dr. Cho said with a smile, unconcerned with Clint’s lack of response to her. As she took a seat on a wheeled stool, Phil followed suit and sat back in the chair. She took a moment to check a few things in her chart and then she turned her head toward Phil though kept her shoulders angled toward Clint. “Why don’t you tell me what brings you in today?”

“Well,” Phil hedged. Honestly, he wasn’t sure where to begin. “I have been fostering Clint for a little over a week now. He hadn’t spoken at all until a few days ago when he told me that he’s deaf. So, we’d like to get his ears checked out and see what we can do for him.”

Dr. Cho nodded. “That sounds like a good plan.” She turned back fully toward Clint. “Clint, could you tell me how long you’ve had trouble with your ears?”

Clint eyed her skeptically. 

“He has spoken,” Phil felt the need to point out after a minute of awkward silence. “But it’s been very rare and he’s spoken to one of my other kids more than he’s spoken to me.”

“That’s okay,” Dr. Cho said. She balanced the chart in her lap so that she could raise her hands up in front of her. Then she started moving her hands in careful patterns as she spoke to Clint again. “Do you speak any sign language?”

And just like that, there was a spark of life in Clint’s eyes that Phil had yet to see from the kid and he was suddenly standing up straighter. Clint raised his fist up to shoulder height and then bobbed the fist up and down like a head nodding. 

“That’s wonderful,” Dr. Cho said, moving her hands while she spoke. “We can communicate in sign language if you’re more comfortable with that.”

One corner of Clint’s mouth twitched up. A ghost of a smile? He bobbed his fist again and then ran his flat hand in a circle over his chest. 

“Great,” Dr. Cho said as she continued to sign. “Can you tell me how long you’ve had trouble with your ears?” 

Clint considered this for a moment before he responded, Dr. Cho thankfully translating verbally so that Phil could keep up. “’Since I was about three or four years old, I think.’” Clint’s hands moved steadily and confidently, like this was the most natural thing in the world for him.

Dr. Cho nodded her understanding. “Can you tell me how your hearing was damaged? Did it happen slowly over time or did something specific cause it?”

At that, Clint hesitated and shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. He didn’t quite meet the doctor’s eyes as he signed his answer and she translated out loud. “’I hit my head and my hearing went away.’” 

Phil had known enough abused kids to recognize the look on Clint’s face when he gave the vague answer. That wasn’t anywhere near the whole story. But for the moment, Phil was just relieved to be getting anything at all out of the kid after over a week of almost complete silence. He leaned forward in his seat, taking in every word as Dr. Cho translated it. 

“Alright, that’s something we see here a lot and can help with,” Dr. Cho assured him patiently. “What I’d like to do to begin with is test your hearing to see what the best course of action will be. It’s a very quick and easy test that will give us a baseline to work with.” She paused, but when Clint only looked at her skeptically she went on. “It’s a very simple test and not at all painful. I’ll put you in a room with some headphones and play some noises for you, to see if there is any range of sound you might be able to hear. Would that be okay with you?” 

Clint eyed her for another long moment while Dr. Cho waited patiently. Finally, he nodded. And, for the first time since Phil had met him, Clint didn’t look apathetic or skeptical. He looked just a bit…. Phil couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. Cautious and wary, but there was definitely a note of something lighter in his gaze. Hopeful? Relieved?

“Okay, if you want to come with me, we can get this done right now,” Dr. Cho spoke and signed as she stood up. She looked over at Phil, continuing to sign as she spoke. “This will only take us about ten to fifteen minutes. You can wait here and we’ll be back after the test.”

“Okay,” Phil said with a nod. 

He watched as Dr. Cho opened the door to the exam room and bid Clint to follow her. There was only a small hesitation before Clint moved after her. Dr. Cho closed the door behind them and Phil was left alone. 

Phil leaned forward and clasped his hands in between his knees. He had come to this appointment with very little idea of what to expect. He hadn’t even imagined that the key to communication with Clint had been sitting right there for the right person. 

Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock on the door and Phil quickly straightened. 

“Where’s Clint?” Phil asked with concern as Dr. Cho entered and closed the door behind her. 

“He’s speaking with one of our hearing aid specialists,” Dr. Cho assured him. “While they’re talking, I thought this would be a good chance for us to talk, given the circumstances.” Phil nodded, feeling relieved. “The hearing test revealed basically what we already know. Clint has profound hearing loss in both ears. He can detect some very low pitched sounds, but for the most part his hearing is very insubstantial. Based on what he’s told me about the cause of his hearing loss, I strongly suspect that he has what we call traumatic sensorineural hearing loss. We’re going to go ahead and get his specs and put in an order for hearing aids so that we can get those as soon as possible, but I’ll also want to do an MRI just to be sure there isn’t anything more serious going on. We can schedule that for later this week.” 

Phil nodded, his head spinning a bit from the onslaught on information. 

“I know this is a lot,” Dr. Cho acknowledged sympathetically. “We’ll know more specifics after the MRI. Now, what questions do you have?” 

Phil huffed a light laugh. He could be here all day with the questions he had. He decided to start with what he felt was the most pressing question. 

“So… you spoke to him using sign language?” Phil said, even though the answer was obvious. “That’s something he’s fluent with?”

“Yes, he seems quite fluent with sign language,” Dr. Cho confirmed. “He even spoke so quickly that one of our newer techs couldn’t keep up.” 

Phil blinked in surprise. “His file has no records of any kind of schooling. I guess I just assumed that he wouldn’t have learned any kind of sign language.”

“He told me that his brother taught him,” Dr. Cho said. 

“Oh,” was all Phil could think of to say. In all honesty, he had completely forgotten that Clint had a brother. The only time Clint’s brother had come up was when Maria had initially pitched the case to Phil months ago, and even then it had only been an offhand comment about how he would have aged out of the system by now. 

Dr. Cho pulled a few pamphlets from her folder and held them out to Phil. “I took the liberty of pulling a few brochures for some adult ASL classes with a variety of times and locations. There’s also options for some online classes too.”

Phil accepted the pamphlets. “Thank you.”

Dr. Cho paused, thinking something over, before she took the seat next to Phil. “You know, I’ve seen a few other kids come through here who are in the foster care system. One in particular seems to have a different guardian every time she comes in. I’ve done some outreach myself with a lot of these kids. I know it can seem daunting, especially because I know you didn’t know about his special circumstances when you took him in. But please… put in the time. Learn the language. And if you do, I promise you it will mean the world to this kid.”

Phil gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. I plan on doing exactly that.” 

* * *

Clint hated the air in the city. Any big city, really. It smelled of exhaust with a glaze of sewage. The air felt heavy and seemed to push in around him, vibrating uncomfortably. It only got worse down in the subway, with the notable difference of the exhaust smell being replaced by a mix of urine, vomit and body odor. The smell was often so potent that it made him dizzy and gave him a headache. 

So, when they finally reemerged above ground at the station near Phil’s house, Clint took a deep, relieved breath. Phil’s house was located far enough from the city that the air smelled marginally cleaner, though the exhaust stench was still ever present. There was less traffic out this far, but there was still a constant stream of cars rumbling by as he and Phil made their way down the sidewalk, which caused the air around him to pulse and the concrete under the thin rubber of his sneakers to feel unstable. 

There were very few things he missed about Iowa. The smell of clean, rural air along with the peace and comfort of a stable atmosphere was one of those things. 

As they made their way the three blocks back to the house, Clint followed a careful step behind Phil so he could keep one eye on Phil and the other eye on the area around him. He was still a little thrown off by what he saw -- or _thought_ he saw -- in the subway on the way to the appointment, so he took extra care to keep tabs on the people out and about that day. He was so focused on the task that he almost missed when Phil turned and started up the stairs to the front door of the house and Clint had to scramble a bit to catch up. 

Clint ducked a bit as he passed Phil holding the door open for him and deliberately pretended not to notice Phil reaching for the small notebook he had been writing messages in as he headed for the stairs. Clint felt a little guilty -- after all, so far Phil had gone far above and beyond what Clint ever expected from anybody -- but so much had happened today that Clint was just desperate to get some distance in order to absorb it. 

At some point, these stairs had become familiar, almost comforting. Something deep inside him twisted at the thought and he pushed it away before he could even consider what that meant. 

As Clint reached the top of the first set of stairs, he did a quick scan of who was on the floor. He spotted Steve and Thor over by the television, so deeply invested in some kind of video game that they didn’t appear to even notice him pass by. Clint continued up to the third floor and on his way down the hallway he glanced into Bruce and Tony’s room to confirm that they were occupied with one of the many disassembled computers they had laying around. 

Feeling secure in the fact that he knew where everyone was, Clint ducked into the room at the end of the hall. The room that Clint had been staying in for about a week and a half now. The room that Clint referred to in his head as Steve’s room. 

Was it supposed to be his room too?

Clint crossed the room and immediately leveraged open the window. A breath later, he had the screen popped out and he was leaning out the opening, looking down at the sidewalk below critically. Satisfied that there weren’t too many passersby, Clint stepped up onto the window sill and carefully slid outside, wedging the screen back in place as he went. 

After that, it had become a familiar path. He hooked his hands on the overhang above the window and hoisted himself up, swinging one foot up on top of the small ledge. Above the window was an ornate cornice molding -- parallel beams arched inward and reached up to support the roof that jutted out and created an overhang in front of the house. It had initially been a challenge for Clint to figure out how to get past that obstacle, but at this point he could do it without hesitation. 

Between each beam was an indented square with ornamental moldings within. It was just big enough for Clint to hook his fingers into. His next move had to happen quickly and perfectly, every move critically dependent on pressure from the one before. He hoisted himself straight up, bracing his sneakers against the brick and then quickly moving his right hand to grasp an outcropping on the side of the beam directly above him. He immediately pulled himself up as he pushed up with his toes and brought his left leg straight up in front of him, his knee almost hitting his chin in order to catch on a small ledge, which gave him the boost he needed to lunge up with his left hand and hook it up and over the edge of the cornice. From there his right hand followed and it was a simple pull up until he could hook his knee up and onto the roof and hoist himself the rest of the way up. 

The roof had a basic trapezoid shape to it. Just above the cornice molding there was a steep incline that ran up to an edge that flattened out, and Clint knew the back of the roof mirrored the front. The attic window was placed in the middle of the slanted part of the roof, popped straight out from the rest of the angled roof. Clint used the corner between the adjacent side of the window and the roof to spider-crawl the rest of the way to the edge of the top of the roof and pull himself up and over. 

The whole thing took Clint less than a minute, minimizing the window of time where a passerby on the street could glance up and see a thirteen year old kid climbing on the outside of a four story brownstone. 

Clint moved a few feet away from the edge of the roof before he dared to stand up. By now, this had become a familiar view. He could see several rows of brownstone houses stretching out in either direction and several blocks over he could just glimpse the open area where a park was located. A slight wind helped to taper the harsh New York summer sun that was high overhead as Clint inhaled deeply. 

And all at once, he felt so much lighter. 

Ever since he was little, he had been drawn to heights. There had been a large tree in the yard of his childhood home that he would climb when he felt overwhelmed. Up in that tree no one could sneak up on him because he couldn’t hear them, no one could yell at him even though he couldn’t understand a damn word they said, no one could grab him and throw him around when he didn’t follow orders that he didn’t know were given. When he was up above the chaos of the world, he finally felt like he could let his guard down.

Throughout his time in the foster care system, he was always looking for something to climb. At his and Barney’s first foster home there was a similar tree to the one that had been at their childhood home that he could escape to. The second home had posed a challenge in the middle of a suburban neighborhood with trees that were little more than flimsy twigs. It took him a month to finally figure out he could drag a chair outside and balance it on top of the trashcan next to the detached, one story garage and pull himself up onto the roof. Of course, it had taken a couple falls and a possible twisted angle that was never properly treated before he really got the hang of it. 

From there he got more and more daring, until now when he didn’t think twice about climbing up the outside of a four story brownstone. 

For several long minutes, all he did was breathe. The entire trip back here, his mind had been racing with too many thoughts to count. But now, when everything finally was still and steady around him, he suddenly found that his mind was completely blank. He could hardly comprehend the events that had unfolded that day. Was there any chance it hadn’t happened? Maybe he had finally fallen, hit his head and sent himself into a coma just like Barney was always telling him he would if he wasn’t more careful. 

But the roof under his feet felt solid. The wind ruffled his hair, tickling the back of his neck. He took another deep breath through his nose, still able to smell the exhaust that rose up from the traffic below. 

This was real. 

“Wow,” Clint breathed on an exhale. 

He looked down and flexed his fingers experimentally. There was a strange tingling in his hands that he wasn’t quite sure what to make of. He felt lightheaded all of a sudden too. It had been a long time since he had been able to speak freely in sign language. It had been like a breath of fresh air to be in the doctor’s office and not have to struggle to read everyone’s lips and to be able to communicate clearly with the people around him. 

He had never experienced anything like that in his life. He barely remembered losing his hearing when he was barely more than a toddler and he really couldn’t really remember what it was like to hear anything at all. What he could remember vividly were the deep vibrations that would rumble through him when his father would yell at him, as if he could bully his deaf son into being able to hear what he was saying. Clint could practically feel the frustration that radiated out from the man when he would go on his tirades in those days. 

But he could also still remember what it was like to curl up in his mother’s lap, her thin arms wrapped around him as she gently rocked back and forth. He could remember burying his face in the crook of her neck, squeezing his eyes shut and being able to completely block out the world. And he remembered the little notes that she used to write for him… despite the fact that he couldn’t read. But her watery, red eyes and her bruises always told Clint that she was doing the best that she could. 

Barney had been the one to start teaching him sign language when Clint had been around five years old. It had just been the bare minimum at first, enough for Barney to be able to translate what their father wanted Clint to do. It wasn’t until their second foster home when they started expanding on the basics. Barney would borrow ASL books from the public library -- “borrow” being a figurative term, as he would sneak them out so that they wouldn’t have to return them. And it was after they left the foster care system for what they thought for good when Clint became obsessed with learning as much as possible. 

But up until now, sign language had only been a means for significant communication between Clint and Barney. The idea that complete strangers would use sign language in order to speak with him had barely crossed Clint’s mind as anything more than a passing fantasy. 

_Don’t get comfortable,_ Clint reminded himself silently. _This won’t last. It’s only temporary. It was nice of Phil to take me to the doctor, but this is just a temporary place for me._

Clint turned to look at the large HVAC unit that was on the roof of the house, eyeballing the large, purple bullseyes that he had spray painted on the side of it on his second day here. It was the signal that Clint and Barney used in order to find each other whenever they were separated. It had been up for over a week. He really expected Barney to have found him by now. 

Of course… Clint had spent several months in juvie. Was it possible that Barney wasn’t looking for him anymore? That he had moved on without him?

Clint shook the thought away. He and Barney may have their ups and downs, and they may have had their worst fight in years before Clint had been arrested… but no matter what, Barney always came for him. It was the one thing in Clint’s life that he could count on… right? 

Clint knelt down and dug out his backpack from where he had stashed it in the small gap under the HVAC system. He pulled out the can of spray paint and shook it up. The can was getting pretty light, probably getting close to empty. Clint carefully sprayed around the bullseye, making the lines thicker and hopefully easier to see. After eyeing his work, he walked around to the other side of the large box and went about painting another bullseye. He got the outer circle done and half of the inner circle before the spray of paint petered out. 

Clint sighed heavily as he threw the empty can down harder than strictly necessary. He blinked hard as his eyes suddenly stung for some weird reason. 

He took in an unsteady breath, assuring himself that he’d sneak away tomorrow and acquire a new can. It would be okay. Barney wouldn’t leave him here. Phil did seem nice enough, but he wasn’t family. Barney always told Clint that Barton’s stuck together. 

And if Clint really had glimpsed Jacques Duquesne in that subway station earlier that day, he was going to need Barney sooner rather than later. 

Clint’s stomach roiled uncomfortably as he forcefully pushed away memories of the man that he wished he could pull out of his brain and burn them from existence. He walked back around to the original side of the HVAC and settled himself down underneath the bullseye, pulling his knees up protectively to his chest. 

The sign for family was made by making the sign for F with both hands, then circling both hands around to show a group of family members. Clint and Barney had altered that sign to be made with the sign for B instead of F in order to create a unique ASL sign for Barton. Absently, Clint made the sign for Barton, put out his thumbs and pinkies and moved his hands down, and then brought his fists together and moved them in a horizontal circle. It was the set of signs that Barney probably used the most. 

_Bartons stay together._

Barney would come for him. Barney would always come for him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wellllllll hello everyone! I'm still here! *waves* I am sooooo very sorry for the radio silence the past couple... months? Of course with this being the first novel I've started posting in a long time, the world had to descend into chaos when I was six chapters in haha. I live in the U.S. and so things have been extra crazy the last couple months and my anxiety has been exhausting. Things finally seem to be leveling out at least in my little bubble, so I'm hoping to get back into normalish routine again which includes working on this story! I hope to have the next chapter out much quicker than this one! Fingers crossed!
> 
> Hope you all are staying safe and healthy!

**Chapter Seven**

As Steve trudged down the stairs in front of his school, he let out a frustrated sigh. Even though there wasn’t anything more in his backpack now than there was when he had gotten to the school that morning, it somehow felt heavier as he shifted it more squarely onto his back. Nothing more save for his most recent math test with the large, red ‘D’ written in unforgiving -- and apparently heavy -- Sharpie ink.

Steve had never been great in school. He had been in second grade when he had been diagnosed with leukemia. Before that he supposed that he had been a fairly average student -- not that kindergarten or first grade were generally much of a challenge in order to set a standard -- but ever since his diagnosis he had always been terribly behind with his education. From the time he had gotten sick at seven years old until he finally went into a long term remission when he was almost twelve, his schooling had been spotty at best.

Phil had helped him work hard in order to catch up over the years. He had to take several classes in summer school every year since returning to regular school, and now at fifteen years old Steve finally felt like he had made headway. This was going to be his last summer where he had to take classes in order to catch up.

Of course, that was assuming he managed to pass these classes.

Steve had been content to trudge home, delaying the inevitable as long as he could, but the universe had other ideas. Only a quarter of the way home, suddenly the heavy, overcast sky opened up and let loose a downpour.

“Seriously?” Steve demanded of the sky as he glared up at the rain for a moment before he jogged to the nearest subway station, launching down the stairs so quickly he had to grab the handrail so he didn’t fall.

He ran a hand through his hair, sending droplets flying, as he swiped his MetroCard and headed for the train. It was just before lunchtime on a Friday, so at least the train was relatively empty before the early rush hour that usually hit with corporate workers sneaking out of the office to start their weekend early. The car that Steve chose was completely empty and he slid his backpack off his shoulders as he plopped down into a seat and let the bag fall between his feet.

The quiet reprieve only lasted for two stops before the doors opened and a group of three rowdy guys stumbled into the middle of the car, wafting in a strong stench of alcohol and cigarette smoke with them. Steve eyed them as the train took off again and one of the guys stumbled and almost fell to the ground, eliciting loud and obnoxious laughter from the other two. The one who had stumbled couldn’t have been more than a couple years older than Steve, while the other two looked like they were in their mid to late twenties. It seemed like an odd group.

Steve continued to watch the group warily out of the corner of his eye, relieved when they merely sent him a passing glance before heading to the other end of the empty subway car. Steve sighed lightly to himself as he relaxed further back into his seat.

The rest of the trip was uneventful. Another couple boarded the car a few stops later, disembarking just a few stops later. Finally, the train approached the stop closest to Phil’s house, and Steve stood, slung his backpack over one shoulder, and headed for the door.

The doors slid open and Steve started to step out…

“Watch yerself, Barton!”

Steve froze in the doorway, one foot on the station platform and one foot on the train as his gaze snapped over to the group of guys playfully -- at least he was pretty sure it was playfully -- pushed each other around. One of the other guys spotted Steve staring and sneered at him.

“The fuck you lookin’ at?”

“Sorry,” Steve mumbled as he ducked out of the car.

The doors slid closed a moment later and the train took off.

Steve sent one uneasy glance back at the train as it rumbled away before heading toward the stairs out of the station. It had been weird to hear Clint’s last name come from the group; apparently aimed at one of them, Steve hadn’t seen who. But it wasn’t anything wildly out of the ordinary, after all that kind of last name wasn’t terribly uncommon.

Although, he mused as he began to climb the stairs, even though he had been living with Clint for over two weeks now, he realized that he really didn’t know anything about Clint’s history. Did Clint have relatives in the area?

The thought left his mind as soon as the exit came into view, revealing that the rainstorm had only gathered in strength while he had been underground. He groaned to himself. Of course this had to happen on a day that he hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella or rain jacket.

By the time he had sprinted the several blocks from the subway station to home and ducked in the front door, he was soaked through.

“I told you to take an umbrella.”

Steve huffed a laugh as he kicked off his wet sneakers. “I forgot.”

Phil smiled sympathetically from where he stood arms crossed next to the stairs, looking back over his shoulder at Steve. Steve glanced passed Phil into his study to see Thor and Miss Hill sitting on the couch. A large man with a bushy, graying beard sat in Phil’s usual armchair while a slighter woman had pulled over one of the chairs. Steve had only seen them on a couple of occasions, but it wasn’t difficult to ascertain that they were Thor’s parents. They must have their supervised visitation today. The group didn’t appear to have noticed Steve’s sudden appearance.

“How’s it going?” Steve asked quietly, looking at Thor sitting ramrod straight on the couch with concern.

Phil frowned, looking troubled. “About the same as it usually does,” he hedged but didn’t sound convincing. “How was class today?” Steve shrugged, trying his best to look unconcerned. Phil nodded with a smile. “Why don’t you head upstairs and change into some dry clothes. We can talk later.”

“Yeah, okay,” Steve agreed probably a little too quickly as he launched himself up the stairs.

“Steve!” Steve’s foot had barely hit the second floor when Tony’s voice was floating over to him. Steve glanced over to see Tony perch on the edge of the couch with an X-Box controller clutched in his hands. Bruce sat in one of the overstuffed armchairs, completely absorbed in a large book propped up on his knees. “Finally! I need your help with this Halo campaign!”

Steve sighed tiredly. “Can’t Bruce help?”

“No offense to Bruce, but he really doesn’t have the skill set I’m looking for,” Tony said, his eyes glued to the TV screen.

“None taken,” Bruce mumbled without so much as glancing up.

“I really don’t feel like playing right now,” Steve said. “Maybe later.”

“Aw, c’mon!” Tony groaned as he finally pried his eyes away from the television. He looked Steve up and down. “Okay, fine, go change into dry clothes and then come back down and play.”

Steve sighed. “I really don’t want to play right now. I’ve got…” His mind blanked as he struggled to come up with an excuse. “Homework,” he finally said lamely.

Tony arched an eyebrow. “It’s _Friday_ , Golden Boy. You can put off your homework for _one night_.”

Steve rolled his eyes as he turned and headed for the stairs up to the third floor. “I’ll play later, I promise,” he called over his shoulder.

Steve tuned out Tony’s appalled shouting that followed him up the stairs, grateful when it tapered off quickly as Tony started a new game. Steve trudged down the hall, hopping from foot to foot in order to pull off his soggy socks. He walked into the room and automatically glanced up at the top bunk. As he had expected, Clint was sitting on the bed, wedged into the far corner with his knees pulled up against his chest protectively.

What he hadn’t expected… Clint was also soaking wet.

Steve paused just inside the door and the two made eye contact. The question bubbled up in Steve’s throat, but died before he could pose it. He didn’t have the energy right now to wonder why Clint had apparently been outside. Instead he made sure he had Clint’s attention and posed a different question.

“Do you have clothes to change into? You know, dry ones?” He plucked at the collar of his own soaking t-shirt in order to help get his point across.

Clint nodded. But he didn’t move.

Steve arched his eyebrows. “You’re gonna get your bedding all wet if you don’t change.”

Clint leaned over to one side and glanced down at his comforter, looking concerned. Steve figured that he had done what he could as he dropped his backpack next to the door. He turned and grabbed clean clothes out of his dresser and headed back down the hall to the bathroom in order to change and dry off. He dumped his soggy clothes into the hamper and headed back to his room.

He was vaguely surprised that in his absence, Clint had actually taken his advice and climbed down off his perch and taken the time to change into dry clothes as well. Steve walked back into the room to find Clint changed and now standing over by the window, peering out at the pouring rain outside, leaning forward to look up at the cloudy sky hanging heavily overhead.

Steve scooped up his backpack from where he had left it and swung it up onto his desk, letting it fall heavily with a bang. He winced a little bit and turned toward Clint in order to apologize for the loud noise… only to belatedly remember that Clint didn’t hear it when he saw that Clint was still gazing out the window.

Steve shifted his attention back to his backpack as he unzipped it and started pulling out his school books and papers in order to assess if any rainwater leaked in and did any damage. One textbook that had been on the outer side of the bag was a little damp, but thankfully it seemed that most of the contents had been spared from the deluge. He reached in and pulled out the folder he kept his math work in, flipping it open to glare at the unforgiven, red D that stared dully back up at him.

The sound of stomping feet coming up the stairs drew Steve back to reality. He snapped the folder shut just as he looked down the hall and spotted Thor appearing at the top of the stairs, pausing in order to yell back down to the first floor.

“No, I don’t wan-- I’m nit fonna--” He paused and huffed loudly, closing his eyes briefly before trying again. “I am not going to play right now, Tony.”

Apparently Tony was still hounding everyone who passed by to play Halo with him. Steve rolled his eyes. Tony didn’t have much in the way of tact.

Thor headed down the hallway in the direction of Steve and Clint’s room, but Steve assumed that he was just coming around to go up the last set up stairs up to his new attic bedroom. Steve turned his attention back to sorting through his school work just for a moment before he saw out of the corner of his eye that Thor was approaching the doorway to their room.

Steve turned just in time to see what happened. Clint moved so quietly that Steve hadn’t even noticed he had turned away from the window at some point and was moving across the room. He was heading toward the door, but he had drifted to one side of the room in order to give Steve a wide berth, as he tended to do with most everyone. So, as Thor was coming through the doorway, Clint was approaching from a blind angle, leading to…

“Ah, shit!” Thor cried in surprise at the same time that Clint let out a startled yelp as the two bumped into each other. It wasn’t enough to even really jar either party, but Clint was still scrambling backward, his eyes wide with fear and his hands fisted. “S’rry, s’ryy,” Thor mumbled, holding out his hands placatingly. “I din-- I dim--” Thor paused and took a deep breath before he tried again, speaking slowly and clearly as he met Clint’s gaze. “I did not see you, I am sorry.”

Steve was watching the exchange carefully, ready to step in if necessary. But, Clint seemed fairly placated by Thor’s words. He didn’t completely relax, but he at least unclenched his fists as he continued to eye Thor a little warily.

“Are you alright?” Thor pressed. Slowly, Clint gave a small nod and Thor sighed and looked openly relieved. “Okay. Good. I will be more careful, I promise.” He glanced over at Steve. “I was hoping to hang out in here with you guys for a little bit.”

“The visit didn’t go well?” Steve guessed, turning and leaning back against his desk.

Thor sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging in answer. “Is it okay if I come in?”

“Yeah, of course,” Steve said, waving a hand to beckon him fully into the room.

But Thor didn’t immediately move, instead he was watching Clint. “Is it okay if I come in?” he repeated when Clint only stared blankly back at him. “It is your room too, Clint.”

Clint looked taken aback at what Steve initially thought was something rather obvious to point out. It dawned on Steve slowly that apparently, even after over two weeks of living here, Clint still didn’t feel like this was also his room. It really shouldn’t have surprised Steve as much as it did, but sometimes he forgot how long it took to adjust to a new home after being bounced around the system for years.

“Thanks,” Thor said with an appreciative smile as he finally stepped fully into the room. He headed across the room and took a seat on the bottom bunk, falling heavily and letting his shoulders sag.

“You wanna talk about it?” Steve asked as he eyed Thor with concern. It was really rare that any of them would see Thor like this, he was always so upbeat. In fact, now that Steve thought about it, the last time he could remember seeing Thor looking so crestfallen was…

“They want to try and get custody back,” Thor mumbled.

“What?” Steve gasped, his eyes going wide. “Are you serious?”

Thor sighed and leaned back. “My dad is six months sober. Suppasably. Suddpsa--?”

“Supposedly,” Steve supplied when Thor sent him a questioning look.

Thor huffed tiredly and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. That.” He glanced over at Clint, who as usual was watching the two of them carefully. “Sorry. When I get worked up, sometimes it is harder for me to… you know, to…” He sighed resignedly and sent Steve another pleading look.

“When Thor gets worked up, it’s sometimes harder for him to form words,” Steve explained to Clint.

Clint licked his lips, his eyes darting from Steve to Thor and then back. “And… you help ‘im.”

Steve arched an eyebrow. He wasn’t quite sure if it was meant to be a question or an observation -- honestly, he was surprised that Clint had said anything at all -- but he felt like there needed to be some sort of affirmation. “Yeah, when he struggles, I help him,” Steve confirmed. “I only help when he wants me to though. Sometimes he wants to work it out for himself, which is fine. Other times he wants someone to help him along. And we’ve figured out how to communicate that with each other over time.”

And Steve hoped the unsaid statement was clear. With time, they would figure out the best way to communicate with Clint as well. All Clint needed to do was give them a chance.

There was a heavy pause in the room for a long moment. And then, Clint took several steps to one side and Steve realized that he was positioning himself to better be able to see Thor’s face and therefore read his lips. Steve couldn’t help the small smile that graced his lips. Baby steps. Nothing significant ever happened without baby steps.

“So, your dad is supposedly six months sober and now your parents want to get custody of you back?” Steve said, intentionally recapping what was going on in case Clint had initially missed it.

“Yeah,” Thor confirmed, and Steve noticed that he lifted his chin a bit so that Clint could see him better. “And it is so stupid because he has proven that he is never going to really change. It will be just like last time where he stays sober long enough to convince a judge and then as soon as I am home…” He shook his head, frowning. “I am sixteen, I am tired of being jerked around. I just want to stay in one place. I just want to stay here.”

“You were… you were taken from your par’nts ‘cause your dad drinks?” Clint asked slowly and unsurely.

Thor nodded. “My dad… he gets s’real-- he gets real mean when he gets drunk. Three years ago it got bad enough that a neighbor called social services and me and my brother got taken away. We were put in a different foster home and were there for almost a year before…” He shifted uncomfortably. Steve knew that he didn’t like talking about what happened in that first foster home. “Before things s’went bad. Then I got placed here. Another couple months ‘n ‘end… _and then_ my parents petitioned the court to get custody of me back. They won and I went back to their house, but three months later my dad was back to his old shit. And I ended up back here. So, at this point, I just want to stay here. Not that the courts seem to give-a, give-a d-damn.”

“Slow down,” Steve reminded Thor gently. “I mean, your parents have lost custody twice already. I would think a judge would be less likely to send you back there again.”

“Steve, you know how the system works,” Thor sighed. “All they care about is free’ng up ‘eds for an obercrow-- _overcrowded_ system.”

“Phil and Miss Hill won’t let it go down like that, you know that,” Steve pointed out.

“They will try,” Thor allowed, though he was still frowning. “But you know they do not always win.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve admitted. “But if there’s any possible way to keep you here, come hell or high water, Phil will find it.”

Thor nodded, leaning back on his hands and blinking a little more than normal. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. I jus’-- hate this.”

“Yeah, we all get that,” Steve assured him sympathetically. “We’ve all dealt with that instability. It sucks.”

“Did he--” Steve and Thor both turned to Clint expectantly, who seemed to have to draw up courage from within before he spoke again. “Did your father do that? Is he why you talk… why you talk like that?”

Sometimes Steve forgot that before they knew that Clint was deaf, there was probably a lot that he had missed. That included the introductions that they had done that first night Clint was with them.

“No, he did not cause this,” Thor explained patiently, enunciating carefully. “I was born with speech apraxia. I’ve always struggled with speech.”

Steve crossed his arms over his chest as he studied Clint’s expression. Steve has been in the foster care system for a total of eight years now. He had encountered a lot of other kids in the system and had listened to all of their heartbreaking stories. With all that experience, Steve was not naive enough to assume that Clint’s question had no deeper meaning behind it.

“Clint?” Steve started, making sure he had Clint’s full attention before he went on carefully. “Can I ask… how your hearing got damaged?”

He knew that it was a question Clint had been asked a lot, and one that Clint skillfully avoided answering every time. Steve was pretty sure not even Phil had been able to get a straight answer out of him. But Steve just had this feeling in his gut…

“M-my dad,” Clint said quietly, his gaze dropping down to study his shoes. “He… um, well he dran’ t-too. He di’nt like me much. An’ one day he… he hi’ me real ‘ard… real _h_ ard. I hit my head an’ then my hearin’ jus’ kinda… jus’ kinda wen’ away.”

“Wow,” Steve breathed at the same time that Thor spat, “Oh shit.”

Neither Steve nor Thor were strangers to hearing horrific stories about violent parents -- just living with Bruce was a testament to that -- but God, it never got easier to hear those kinds of things from other kids in the system.

“Hey, Clint,” Thor said, but Clint’s gaze was still pinned down on the floor as he swayed restlessly from foot to foot.

Thor carefully shifted down the bed so that he was sitting closer to where Clint stood by the window. Clint must have been able to see the movement in his peripheral vision, because he flinched and stepped back, but did lift his gaze to regard Thor a little warily.

“I am really sorry you had to go through that,” Thor said carefully. “My dad has hit me around some when he drinks but… but nothing as bad as that. That is awful that your dad was not stopped sooner.” He paused. “Is that why… is that why you were taken away from him?”

Clint bit his lip and then slowly shook his head. “My… m’ dad crashed the car when he was drunk. K-killed him and my m-... my mom.” Clint's voice cracked painfully at the mention of his mom and Steve’s heart twisted at the sound. Clint took a deep breath before he went on, his wide eyes still pinned on Thor. “I di’nt… I di’nt know you could be taken from ‘ar’nts that were… s’ill alive.”

There was a heavy silence in the room at this revelation.

“Of course you can,” Steve finally said before he realized that Clint wasn’t looking at him. Thor realized the same thing and motioned over to Steve, Clint following the cue and looking over at Steve. As Clint turned, Steve could painfully see that his eyes were shining brightly with barely contained tears. “Of course kids can be taken away from their parents,” Steve repeated. “Not all parents are good parents. What happened to you… that’s not okay. CPS tries to get kids out of homes like that before things like that can happen. It’s just… they don’t always know what’s going on behind closed doors, you know?”

Clint swallowed thickly as he absorbed what was obviously completely new information to him. Steve couldn’t hide his own shock either, which mirrored Thor’s. He only knew the bare essentials that Phil had shared about Clint’s history up to this point. He knew that Clint had spent a few years in foster homes before he had disappeared and no one knew where he was for years before he turned up in New York a few months ago. But even so, Steve couldn’t imagine how he had missed such basic information about Child Protective Services… until he realized that apparently no one had known that Clint was deaf.

And suddenly, all at once everything clicked into place. If Clint’s father had caused the injury that damaged Clint’s hearing, he sure as hell wasn’t going to take him to a doctor. With no medical record, after Clint’s parents had passed away it would be up to Clint to tell the social workers about his condition. And clearly it was deeply embedded into him that his hearing loss was a bad thing, so all these years Clint had kept it a closely guarded secret. With that knowledge, it was no wonder that Clint had missed so much. And now as he came to that conclusion, Steve now couldn’t help but wonder something else…

Had Clint had any kind of significant communication with anyone at all since his parents died?

The sound of someone coming up the stairs jarred Steve out of his thoughts, and he glanced down the hall just in time to see Phil coming up and around the corner. Phil shot him a strained smile as he headed down the hall and drifted toward the staircase that led to the attic.

“Are you looking for Thor?” Steve called into the hallway, since Thor couldn’t be seen from Phil’s vantage point.

“Yeah,” Phil confirmed.

“He’s in here with us,” Steve told him.

“Oh, thanks,” Phil said as he came to stand in the doorway. He looked sympathetically over at Thor. “You okay, kid?”

Thor shrugged sullenly. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Try not to get too discouraged,” Phil said. “If you don’t want to go back to live with your parents, a judge is much more likely to listen to you at this point given your age along with the fact that you’ve already been bounced back with them once and it didn’t work out.”

“I know,” Thor sighed. “It is just… just the thought of it makes me feel sick. I do not want to bounce around anymore, I just want to stay here.”

“Then we’re going to do everything we can to make sure that’s what happens,” Phil assured him.

“Thanks, Phil,” Thor said with a small, appreciative smile.

“It’s what I’m here for, kid,” Phil said, returning the smile. He glanced around at Clint and then Steve. “Well, it’s been an especially long week for all of us. I was thinking that tonight might be a good night for ordering in some Chinese food and watching a movie. What do you boys think?”

Thor perked up at that. “Yeah!”

“That sounds really good,” Steve agreed with a smile.

Phil looked over at Clint. “Clint,” he said and then waited a beat to make sure he had Clint’s full attention. “Do you like Chinese food?”

Clint shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. “I… I don’ thin’ I’ve hadit.”

“Would you like to try it?” Phil asked. “It’s okay if you don’t, we can get you something different if you want.”

For some reason, Clint’s gaze darted to Steve before focusing back on Phil. “I’ll try it.”

“Okay, I’ll order a variety and we can do it up family style,” Phil said with a grin. “I’ll call you guys down in a bit when the food gets here and we can pick a movie.”

He turned and headed back downstairs.

“Clint,” Thor said after Phil had disappeared as he waved a hand to draw Clint’s attention back to him. “You really should tell Phil about what your dad did to you. I know it might seem like it is in the past and there is not anything that he can do, but you would be surprised how much talking with Phil can help. We are not unwanted or just temporary here. He really does care about us and wants to help us.”

Steve nodded his agreement, putting up a hand to get Clint’s attention. “Phil has really saved us. All of us that live here now and the handful who have lived here before. I promise you, he’s one of the good guys. It’s okay to let him in. He’s had countless opportunities to give up on us. When I was sick and I was in and out of the hospital all the time, it would have been easy for him to give up and get a kid that was easier to take care of. But he never even considered that.”

“Yeah,” Thor agreed. “And when I came here, despite having speech apraxia all my life, my speech was so bad that I could hardly get a coherent sentence out. Phil not only signed me up for speech therapy, but he was always offering to practice with me and help me with my exercises. I do not know what I would have done without him.”

“I’ve… ne’er met an adult who wann’ed to help,” Clint admitted quietly.

“I know what you mean,” Steve said sympathetically. “It’s easy to get jaded by the system sometimes. But talk to anyone in this house and you’ll find out… Phil’s one of the good guys.”

Clint nodded, but still looked unsure. Steve knew that it might take time, but he really hoped that Clint would at least try to give Phil a chance.

“I think I will go downstairs and see if Tony is still looking for someone to play Halo with him,” Thor said as he pushed himself up off the bed. “Thank you guys for letting me vent.”

“Anytime,” Steve assured him. After Thor was gone, Steve shifted his attention back to Clint. “I’m just going to work on some homework for a little bit. You’re welcome to hang out here, or you could go downstairs and play video games with the others.”

Clint considered that for a moment. “Think I’ll s’ay ‘ere. F’r awhile.”

Steve nodded, unsurprised. Clint still looked a little shell shocked from learning that a big chunk of what he thought he knew about the world was wrong.

As Clint climbed back up to his bed, Steve sat down at his desk and pulled out his math test -- heavy with red ink -- and his math textbook. The teacher was thankfully sympathetic to Steve’s situation, and had told him that if this weekend he went through and figured out the right answers to the questions that he got wrong, he would bump him up a letter grade. And Steve desperately needed that if he was going to have any hope of passing this class.

Steve was so lost in the frustrating mess of numbers that he only vaguely noticed the sounds of footsteps pounding up the stairs.

“Hey, Whiz Kid!” Tony’s voice calling down the hallway jerked Steve out of his trance. “Let’s go, food’s here!”

“Be down in a sec!” Steve called back.

“Bring the Buddhist Monk with you!” Tony called as his footsteps pounded back down the stairs.

Steve turned in his chair, spotting Clint still sitting up in his bed, staring a bit vacantly toward the rain that was still soaking the window. Steve put up a hand and waved, catching Clint’s attention. “The food is here. You can head downstairs, I just need to finish this.”

Satisfied that Clint had understood him when he started climbing down out of the bed, Steve turned back in his seat and focused back on his paper. If he could just get through this one more problem…

A minute later he let out a frustrated sigh and leaned back in his chair, reluctantly deciding to give up for now. Maybe he could get Bruce to help him later this weekend. Even though he was the youngest of them -- well, second youngest now with Clint in the house -- he was some sort of prodigy when it came to math and science.

Steve turned in his seat… and started when he almost knocked into Clint, who he hadn't realized was right behind him.

“Oh, sorry!” Steve gasped.

But Clint wasn’t looking at him. Instead he was craning over, looking intently down at the math book that Steve had lying open next to the test he was trying to work through. Steve opened his mouth to make a comment about how much he hated geometry, but realized that with Clint not looking at him there wasn’t much use. Instead, Steve carefully stood up, and Clint’s gaze snapped to him at the motion.

Steve smiled. “Come on, let’s get down to the food before the others take all the good stuff.”

Clint returned the smile tentatively and followed Steve as they headed downstairs.

“Okay, good, here we go!” Tony called as the two reached the bottom of the stairs. He waved over at them from the living room where he, Bruce, Thor and Phil already had cartons of food spread out on the coffee table. “The vote is currently two to one!”

“What are the movies?” Steve asked, already knowing exactly what Tony was referring to.

“I voted for Jurassic Park,” Thor announced.

“Bruce and I voted for Batman Begins,” Tony countered.

“Oh, definitely Jurassic Park,” Steve said immediately with a grin. “I haven’t seen it in forever and I just caught Batman on TV a couple weeks ago.”

Tony groaned loudly as he made a show of rolling his eyes. “I guess Phil is the tiebreaker again.”

“No he’s not,” Steve said with a glare, motioning back at Clint who was hovering behind him.

“Oh!” Tony said as he brightened up. “Clint! Yes! I can tell you’re a superhero guy, right? Good versus evil, the struggle of man, an orphan boy who grows up to kick some serious ass! You wanna watch Batman, right?”

Clint blinked blankly at Tony and then looked around, confused.

“Clint,” Steve said, meeting Clint’s gaze. “We’re voting on what movie to watch tonight. The two we’re picking between are Jurassic Park and Batman Begins. Have you seen either of those movies?” Clint shook his head. “Well, we are currently tied and you get to be the deciding vote. Batman Begins is a superhero movie and Jurassic Park is a movie about cloning dinosaurs.”

There was a spark behind Clint’s eyes. “Dinosaurs?”

“Yeah!” Thor jumped in excitedly. “It is really cool, they clone the dinosaurs and try to put them in an amusement park. I do not want to give anything away, but it does not go well.”

“I pick tha’ one,” Clint said with a smile.

“Oh, not fair!” Tony moaned loudly.

“You love Jurassic Park,” Steve pointed out, rolling his eyes. “You just hate to lose.”

“The tribe has spoken,” Phil announced. “Okay, guys, grab your food and I’ll get the movie set up.”

The typical chaos ensued as everyone divvied up the food and fought over seating. Clint needed some direction when it came to what was in each carton, which Steve and Thor were both happy to give, and Clint ended up with a good sampling of most of the food on his plate. Steve caught Phil glancing over at them several times, clearly trying to keep his excitement in check as it seemed that Clint was finally finding his place in the house.

“Okay, can one of you help me turn on the closed captions?” Phil asked after studying the remote for a long moment.

“I can,” Bruce volunteered, reaching over. Just a second later he had the settings up on the TV and was flipping on the option for closed captions.

Steve glanced over at Clint who was sitting on the couch next to him. The couch was perpendicular to the television, and Clint was sitting on the farther end, something Steve hadn’t thought much of until he remembered that he would need to read the captions.

“Do you want to switch with me?” Steve asked, motioning to the TV. “You’ll probably be able to see better.” Clint looked a little confused. “Here, switch with me,” Steve decided, standing up and motioning Clint to take his seat.

“Okay, everyone settled?” Phil asked. He got affirmations from everyone with various levels of enthusiasm. “Okay, here we go.”

He hit play and the movie started.

As the Universal logo rotated onto the screen and the opening credits started to roll, everyone settled into eating their dinners. The opening scene began with a barely visible, metal crate rustling behind some trees, being watched by workers who all had on hard hats with the Jurassic Park logo on it. Everyone on sceen is quiet as they watch the crate being moved through the trees. A few captions popped up, describing the noises and low background music that were happening in the otherwise silent scene. It wasn’t until the first spoken line a few minutes in, that Steve really noticed anything.

Clint’s eyes were wide and he was suddenly leaning forward, his plate forgotten in his lap as the dialogue was transcribed along the bottom of the screen. Then he turned to Steve, his expression shocked.

“Tha-- Tha’s what th’re sayin’? At the boddom?”

“Yeah,” Steve confirmed with a smile. “It’s the closed captioning. All the dialogue and noises will be at the bottom of the screen so you can read it.”

And for the first time since he had stepped into this house, Clint’s features truly and honestly lit up. “Tha’s so cool!”

“The wonders of technology,” Tony announced, but even he was grinning at the look on Clint’s face.

“We want you to be included, Clint,” Phil pointed out with a smile. He picked up the remote again. “Okay, how about we start over now that Clint knows what to expect.”

There were no objections as Phil backtracked the few minutes back to the very beginning and started the movie over again.

As much as Steve had wanted to watch the movie, he was much more fascinated with watching Clint watch the movie. After having to be reminded of his food several times, Clint wolfed it down so quickly that Steve imaged that he barely tasted it. After he had cleared his plate -- something else he hadn’t done since he had arrived -- Clint actually slid off the couch and sat on the floor closer to the TV. He was completely mesmerized by the movie, and it was easy to see that at thirteen years old Clint was only just now experiencing what it was like to really be able to follow the plotline of a movie and really know what was going on.

After the movie ended, Phil was talked into letting them watch the sequel, though he admittedly didn’t put up much of a fight, especially when unprompted Clint actually vocalized his desire to watch another one. It was during the second movie that Steve realized he wasn’t the only one that was watching Clint more than the movie.

By the time the second movie ended, it was late and everyone was blinking sleepily. It had been a very long day for all of them. There was minimal resistance when they were ushered off to bed.

Steve was curled up in the bottom bunk, on the verge of falling asleep, before the incident on the subway jumped into his head again and he realized he forgot to ask Clint if he had any relatives in the area. As he drifted off to sleep he told himself that he would ask Clint about it tomorrow. After all, he was being much more forthcoming with at least him and Thor, which was extremely encouraging.

Forget the baby steps, Clint had taken a huge leap today and Steve as he drifted off into a restful sleep, he was hopeful that after weeks of unbalance the house was finally going to settle into their new normal with Clint a part of the family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it wasn't until this chapter I realized how challenging it is to have two characters with irregular speech patterns haha! Hopefully their dialogue it's too distracting. Things will even out a bit when Clint gets his hearing aids. Thanks for hanging in there with me! Please don't forget to review and let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! More details on the kids' individual stories coming in the next chapter!


End file.
